


To Do What Everyone's So Bloody Insistent On

by orphan_account



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Family Fluff AUPats and Deels think their happily-ever-after is all sorted up in Scotland...until they happen to visit Nonnatus for Christmas, 1963. Set during an alternate version of Series 8.





	1. What You’ve Been Looking For

**Author's Note:**

> Incorporates some elements of the 2018 Christmas Special & Series 8, but the plot largely diverges from canon after Series 7.
> 
> Also, don’t worry, Patsy will go back to being a midwife eventually.

**December, 1963**

Patsy attempts to rest her head back-

-Only succeeding in accidentally knocking it against a little shelf set into the wall behind the bath, and sending a dish of unnecessarily posh decorative soaps clattering to the floor.

_Fabulous._

She rubs at the pain radiating from the back of her skull.

She’s still getting used to where everything is in this place.

One of the strangest things about inheriting the entirety of the vast Mount family fortune is becoming a property owner. 

There was a time when Patsy had thought she would never even get a chance to share a one-room flat with Delia. 

And now they suddenly have homes all over the world.

A colonial house in Hong Kong. A restored Victorian in London. An avante garde Art Deco in Sydney. A swanky highrise penthouse in New York.

And this sprawling manor near Edinburgh - where they are now. 

Apparently it served as a summer home for Patsy’s mother’s side of the family at one point-

“-That’s a lovely tune,” Delia appears in the doorway.

The redhead jumps a bit, having been lost in thought. 

She didn’t even realise she’d been humming. 

“Was I bothering you?” She ducks her head sheepishly. 

“Never,” The brunette perches on the edge of the bath and strokes Patsy’s hair, “This is what I’ve always wanted. We get to catch each other singing in the bath, we get to bicker about the duvet. I don’t take any of it for granted.”

Patsy has always run hot, she’s often happy to sleep with a light blanket year-round.

Or, indeed, no blanket at all.

Meanwhile, Delia likes a thick and fluffy duvet - ‘Like a normal person,' she would say teasingly. 

Then she wants to spoon or cuddle in addition to that. 

The combination is absolutely stifling for Patsy, much as she enjoys being close.

They’ve negotiated various compromises over the years. 

The classic half and half, Patsy on top of the duvet and Delia beneath. 

Or, starting out with cuddles on top, during pillow talk, and then resettling underneath once they’re ready to actually sleep - usually touching in some way but with enough space between them for Patsy to not feel like she’s on the surface of the sun. 

Delia has long endured all of this with minimal complaint. 

“I love you,” Patsy tilts her head back for an appreciative kiss.

The brunette grants the silent request, leaning down for a quick peck. 

“Want me to do your back for you?” 

“I want you to get in here with me,” The redhead answers, with what she hopes is an alluring grin.

The smaller woman laughs, “Not a chance, the water is freezing! You’ve been in here for ages.”

_Worth a try._

The redhead pouts a bit.

“Did you give everyone their Christmas bonuses?” She inquires about the household staff.

“Yes. I sent Mr. Langley and Mrs. Fraiser home to their families, and told them not to come back till after the New Year.” Delia mentions the groundskeeper and the maid.

“And Mrs. McCallum?” Patsy asks of the cook.

“She won’t leave until you tell her yourself,” The brunette says with some amusement, “I don’t think she likes me.”

“About that,” The redhead winces apologetically, “I may have told her I prefer the way you make my bournvita.”

Delia sighs with a sort of fond exasperation, “I don’t know whether to kiss you or be cross with you.” 

“I’m mildly worried she’s going to poison me now.”

“She is a bit scary. She reminds me of Matron,” Delia evokes their old supervisor at The London, “I can still see the steam coming out her ears, after the incident with the trolley and the sluice.”

“I was so nervous when she called us over to her desk,” Patsy laughs and hides her face against the brunette’s side.

“ _You_ were nervous!? I was only nineteen, it was my first day of training!”

“You talked her out of punishing us, though.” The redhead leans back, with an air of nostalgic reminiscence, “I just remember standing there thinking: ‘this girl is either the bravest person I’ve ever met - or she’s _completely mental’_.” 

Delia feigns offence at that last bit, muttering something in Welsh and playfully swatting at Patsy with a towel. 

In their bedroom, the redhead puts on a pair of pajamas and returns to humming absentmindedly.

“You’ve been humming that song a lot recently,” The smaller woman notes, “I keep meaning to ask you what it is.”

“...It’s a lullaby, my mother used to sing it to my sister and I.”

“How does it go? The lyrics?” The brunette asks gently.

“I can’t remember the words. At boarding school the nuns gave us twenty lashes on the back of the hand for signing anything other than the Catholic hymns they taught. I could only get away with humming anything else.”

Delia closes her eyes sadly, “Oh Pats, I’m so sorry,” She gathers the redhead in a hug.

“...I should go look over the papers the accountant sent, I need to call the firm with my decision by Monday,” Patsy says mechanically, because it’s easier to talk about something practical like that, than delve too deeply into her childhood.

“Why don’t you try to sleep, My Love? You’ve been working so hard. You need to rest.”

_She’s right._

_As always._

Sorting out the family estate has become more than a full-time job. 

Patsy’s father hadn’t exactly made it easy for her. 

His dying wish was that she would personally manage the little empire he’d amassed.

He was a founding partner in a very successful ships brokerage firm.

For some unfathomable reason - he had chosen Patsy to take his place on the board of directors.

And what does she know about the business?

Nothing.

It’s a mess.

Then there were the homes the redhead had acquired, some of which were in need of renovation.

She’d been advised, by her father’s solicitor, to visit all of the properties and ensure they were being well maintained. Especially if she should wish to sell any.

Her and Delia stayed at the house in London for a few weeks, after Patsy returned from Hong Kong. 

She was exhausted. 

She wasn’t in the mood to commune with everyone at Nonnatus.

All she wanted was to cocoon herself up with Delia, and hide from the world. 

But they did go through Nonnatus very briefly.

Delia had to pack her things after all. 

And Patsy gave everyone the barest minimum of a greeting that she could manage. 

They were all so focused on the wedding that they let her get away with being entirely anti-social, it wasn’t hard for her and Delia to slip off unnoticed.

The redhead regrets leaving like that now. 

Barbara was one of her dearest friends.

Patsy wishes she’d had the energy to stay and spend some time with the newlyweds.

It just didn’t seem possible that they would never have another chance.

Which was naive. 

If anyone has first hand experience with the fragility of life, it’s Patsy.

She isn’t sure how she feels about being here in Scotland. 

She’d been told this was a place her mother had been very happy and spent a good deal of time when young.

Patsy’s parents had even honeymooned here, before her father’s business took them to the east.

This is the last stop. The last property.

They’d had a bit of fun on safari - but for most of the past year Patsy had embarked with Delia on somewhat of a world tour, to survey all the properties that the redhead is now responsible for. 

And Patsy saved this one till the end. 

Because she was thinking perhaps they might settle here.

Because she was thinking there might be some tangible connection to her mother here. 

There isn’t anything. 

It’s a perfectly fine house. 

It’s just…not what she hoped it would be. 

In quiet moments, if she’s being honest with herself, she has to admit that she longs for the warmth of Nonnatus. 

Drafty and dilapidated as it was. 

But she’s already asked Delia to put her life on hold for too long. 

It’s not fair to drag the brunette all the way back to London.

Just because Patsy is homesick for a place she doesn’t belong anymore.

She’s no longer needed in Poplar. 

Her old job is someone else’s now.

And Delia has gone back to studying, here in Edinburgh. 

She’ll be able to take her exam soon.

Everyone has moved on.

Besides, Patsy hardly has the time to go cycling all over East London. She can barely manage her new responsibilities as it is.

She hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly with the stress of it all. 

She’s lost weight.

And she’s gotten even more pale (yes, that was possible, she was surprised too).

Poor Delia probably feels like she’s been living with a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” Patsy tells her, “I know I’ve been a monster this past year. Carting you halfway across the world, spending all my time with solicitors and contractors and accountants.”

“I only want you to look after yourself,” The smaller woman runs a soothing hand along the redhead’s arm.

“I have you to look after me,” Patsy acknowledges, “You’ve been so wonderful, I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” 

Delia kisses the redhead’s cheek, “Don’t be too long tonight, it’s cold in bed when you’re not here.” 

“I’ll just go speak with Mrs. McCallum and then I’ll be in the study if you need me - no more than an hour…”

_...Alright, so, it was more than an hour._

Patsy sighs with frustration when she looks up from the papers she’s been trying to make sense of, and there’s morning sunlight streaming in the windows.

Normally she would be in trouble for not coming to bed all night.

But she’s expecting a special delivery early this morning, something she hopes will help put her back in Delia’s good graces.

The redhead checks the time and makes her way to the staff entrance at the back of the house, where she waits for the groundskeeper to meet her with the parcel that she’d instructed him to collect.

Shortly afterward, upstairs, she climbs into bed behind Delia and nuzzles at the smaller woman’s neck, pressing soft kisses there.

“Mmm, hello,” The brunette says.

And Patsy can hear the sleepy smile in her voice. 

“Happy Christmas, Darling.” The redhead murmurs, along with a few more kisses. 

“...Christmas is next week.”

“But your present arrived this morning.” 

“Getting to wake up with you for once? Is that my present?” The brunette asks pointedly, as she turns to face Patsy.

The redhead offers over a fluffy little puppy with a red bow tied loosely around his neck.

“Technically, no. This little chap is your present.”

“Pats…” Delia sits up with surprise, “You don’t even like dogs.” 

“But you do. And I want you to have everything you want.” The redhead says adoringly.

The brunette smiles, all dimples and loveliness, “How did you materialise a puppy out of thin air?” 

“I planned it with Mr. Langley, so that after he told you he was leaving he would double back and stay on an extra day. He helped me smuggle the little fellow in.”

“How devious,” Delia grins, “I’m proud of you.”

“Is this the right kind?” The redhead gestures uncertainty at the puppy, “I don’t really know anything about dogs. I just know you wanted one from a shelter, not a breeder.”

“He’s perfect.” 

_I’m not sure I’d go that far_ , Patsy looks skeptically down at the tiny canine.

But then Delia cuddles the puppy close.

And the fuzzy creature licks the brunette’s face enthusiastically. 

And Delia laughs so prettily in that moment - that Patsy thinks perhaps she might come to like dogs after all.

Anything that makes the brunette this happy is worth a bit of drool and hairballs. 

_Or whatever it is that dogs do, exactly._

“Are you sure you like him? Because I can always take him back and get you some earrings instead,” The redhead jokes.

“Don’t listen to her,” Delia tells the puppy, “I would never trade you for earrings.” 

He licks her again in response.

Patsy reaches out to give him a tentative little pat on the head. 

But he turns and gnaws on one of her fingers with his razor-sharp puppy teeth.

“Why is he nice to _you_ , but he bites _me_?”

“He’s probably teething at this age, I’m sure it’s nothing personal.” Delia leans over and mollifies the redhead with a kiss, “Thank you for this, truly.” 

And Patsy can’t find any words to reply when they part.

Because Delia has that _particular_ sort of look in her eye. 

She undoes the top button of Patsy’s pajamas and runs a fingertip over the skin there, whispering seductively. 

“Why don’t you get him settled downstairs - then come back up here so I can thank you properly?”

And the redhead can’t help but close the gap between them, kissing the smaller woman hungrily, hands finding the hem of Delia’s nightdress.

“Someone’s eager!” The brunette giggles and pushes Patsy away, “Go sort the dog out first, Silly.”

Later that morning, the redhead retrieves the post with an extra little spring in her step.

She breezes through the dining room where Delia is already sat down to breakfast.

The smaller woman looks up with a clear mix of concern and disappointment - at the cigarette in Patsy’s mouth. 

“You promised me you’d try to give it up.” 

“ _Try_ is the operative word there, Darling.” 

“I want us to be together for sixty years, that won’t happen if you get lung cancer at forty-five.”

“I thought you wanted us to be together _fifty_ years?”

“I’ve changed my mind, now it’s sixty.”

Patsy dutifully puts the cigarette out and drops a kiss on top of Delia’s head, “I’ll be in the study.” 

“You need to eat something,” The brunette reminds her.

_Oh._

_Right._

The redhead sits down at the table, with the puppy circling round her feet. 

“So, what are you going to call him?” 

Delia considers it for a moment, “...Garbo.”

“You and your films,” Patsy rolls her eyes, “If you make me sit through ‘Queen Christina’ one more time-”

“-I don’t understand how you can not want to see Greta Garbo kiss Elizabeth Young, _on the lips!_ ”

“If I want to see two women kissing, I can just kiss you and look in a mirror.”

“Well, I think it’s important - women like us on screen. I hope there’s more eventually. And on telly too.”

“They would _never_ put women like us on television,” The redhead scoffs around a mouthful of toast, “You’re out of your mind!”

“They’ve already put us in a couple of films,” Delia reasons.

“A film every other century is one thing - ‘family evening telly’ is quite another.” Patsy hands the brunette a letter, sifting through the handful of envelopes collected earlier, “Post for you.” 

“My exam registration papers!”

The redhead looks up with excitement, “Make sure to tell me what date you book. I’ll put everything else aside and be your revision partner - the entire week beforehand. Whatever you need.”

The brunette leans over for a grateful kiss, “What have you got?”

“Bills. Letter from my father’s solicitor…evidently there was some kind of trust set up, I was to receive it on my thirtieth birthday...a safe deposit box in London.”

“But your birthday was back in October.”

“You know how slow the post can be from Hong Kong,” Patsy says absently, and then metaphorically kicks herself, “...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

Delia sighs, “You were going through something horrible, I understand why you weren’t able to write. I’ve forgiven you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”

“Because I haven’t yet forgiven myself for leaving you in the first place.” 

“You had to go, your father needed you,” The smaller woman covers the redhead’s hand with her own.

“But you didn’t know if I was coming back to you. You weren’t sure of my commitment. I can’t forgive myself for leaving you in any doubt.”

“It wasn’t that I doubted your commitment, My Love. I just knew that you would likely have more important obligations after your father died, maybe permanent ones, and when you didn’t write-”

“- _Nothing_ is more important to me than you. Whatever other obligations I may have, I will always look for a way to put you first,” Patsy vows, “I meant what I said when I gave you that ring.”

Delia smiles softly, “Sometimes that whole day feels like a dream, like it wasn’t even real.” 

“It was always real to me,” Patsy says quietly, “I would get you another ring, if you’d let me.”

“I couldn’t have another, the first one was too special.” 

The morning after they quarreled outside The Silver Buckle, Patsy had gone to a jeweler on Chrisp Street.

The shop owner didn’t even question why a woman was buying an engagement ring, he simply seemed happy to have the business.

It was more than she could afford at the time.

She’d had to sort out a plan to pay it down in installments.

But she wanted to do everything properly.

A ring. 

Someplace romantic.

Down on one knee.

Delia had kissed her and shed such joyful tears that Patsy truly felt like a fool for not having done it all years earlier.

The brunette barely had a chance to wear it. 

She kept it on a chain around her neck, because nursing is a rather hands-on occupation. 

Lots of girls at The London would wear their engagement rings as necklaces, to avoid losing them.

Ironically, wearing it that way may have been the very reason Delia’s ring disappeared after her accident.

She doesn’t have clear memories of that day, but she thinks the chain must have broken and fallen off in the street. 

Whereas, Patsy is convinced Mrs. Busby confiscated it - along with the subtextual love letters the redhead had written to Delia during the time she was convalescing in Wales.

Nevertheless-

“-Ring or not. If there were a place we could be married, if I could take you as my wife _on the moon_ , I would commission a rocket ship to get us there. I’m completely devoted to you and I plan to spend the rest of my life proving it,” Patsy states unequivocally,” ...Or, for however long you’ll have me.” 

“At least sixty years, don’t go trying to get out of it any sooner,” Delia quips with a cheeky grin. “So, what’s in this safe deposit box of yours?” 

“The letter doesn’t say.”

“When do you plan to collect it?”

“I don’t know,” Patsy answers apathetically, “I’m not sure I really care to. It’s probably just more stodgy old heirlooms that we wouldn’t have any use for. Great Grandmother Mount’s ivory broach - or something else that would make me feel guilty about how my family made their money.”

“You’re not your family.” 

“No. But I’m benefiting from their exploitative practices.”

“You’ve also donated loads. I think we should go to London next week,” Delia attempts to steer the redhead out of her melancholy, “We’ll make a holiday out of it.”

“I’m so tired, Deels. I don’t know if I can pack another suitcase.”

From the day Patsy left Poplar for Hong Kong to the day they arrived here in Scotland - it’s been nearly two solid years of travelling.

“I’ll pack for you,” The brunette offers. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll ring some of my old friends from the ambulance brigade, we can see everyone at Nonnatus.”

“Everyone at Nonnatus is busy, I’m sure they don’t have time to see us.”

“Maybe I’ll write my parents and invite them to visit us while we’re down south. I’d love to see my Dad...I just wish that didn’t mean having to invite my Mam.”

“Still writing to insist that you ‘come home and marry a nice Pembrokeshire boy’ of her choosing, is she?”

“Every fortnight, like always.” 

“You’re twenty-six, Delia, you can’t let her control you forever. If you want to invite your father alone, then do it.”

“I’m not even sure he would come,” The smaller woman says morosely, “The way Mam makes it sound - he’s already disowned me.”

“You’ve not spoken to him, you don’t know how he really feels. You only know what your mother has told you and what she puts in her letters, all of it is steeped in manipulation.”

“There’s no way I can invite one without the other. She would come, even if I specifically asked her not to - _especially_ if I asked her not to.”

“Then invite them both if you need to, but don’t let her dominate the conversation.”

The brunette just gives a cynical laugh, “How?”

“If it would make things easier, I can plan to be out of the house when they arrive.”

“No!” Delia looks at her fiercely, “I’m not ashamed of you. I won’t hide you away. Not for anyone. Not ever.” 

“Alright,” Patsy puts her hands up in defense, “It was only a thought. I wanted to help. I know how close you once were to your father.”

Delia looks away, “Maybe I’ll just see him next year.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to go to London, then?” 

“No. We’re still going.”

“Why?” The redhead almost whines, dragging the word out petulantly.

“What if the safe deposit box is full of your mother’s things?” The brunette points out, “Maybe it’s what you’ve been looking for.”

Patsy wavers, tempted by the possibility.

“We can’t just leave Garbo here alone,” She makes one last argument.

“We’ll take him with us,” Delia shrugs and opens her exam forms.

As if the logistics of taking a puppy on a six hour train journey is perfectly simple for her to sort out. 

Patsy just smiles to herself and shakes her head.

Nothing ever stops Delia. 

She always has a plan.


	2. I Like The Sound of That

On the train and halfway to London, Delia falls asleep on Patsy’s shoulder.

Garbo is curled up on the floor of their compartment, chewing at one of the toes of the redhead’s shoes.

He doesn’t even have the common decency to wait for a time when she’s not wearing them.

If Delia were awake, she would be able to stop him.

He only listens to her. 

But the brunette always dozes off on long journeys - which Patsy finds too endearing to disturb. 

It was one of the highlights of all the travelling they did together.

A voice in the corridor pulls her out of her thoughts-

“-Is there a doctor on board!? _Please,_ is anyone a doctor!?”

Delia stirs and opens the door of their compartment. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, just as an attendant runs by, still calling for a doctor.

“A passenger - there’s something dreadfully wrong with her.” The attendant, no more than a boy, looks positively terrified.

“We’re nurses, we can try to help.”

“Please, yes, thank you Miss. Would you come with me?” He asks desperately.

Patsy follows the boy while Delia makes sure Garbo is comfortable, with a little bowl of water and a layer of newspaper spread out on the floor of their compartment.

The attendant takes Patsy a few compartments down.

There’s a young woman with curly blonde hair, clearly in active labour.

She definitely looks full-term.

Which is a bit curious, because midwives and doctors typically advise patients not to travel in the later parts of their pregnancies.

Precisely to avoid situations like this.

“You take the lead on this one, Deels,” Patsy suggests when the brunette joins her, hovering in the doorway to the compartment.

“But I’m not allowed to practice without a qualified supervisor present.” 

The redhead frowns, “What am I? Chopped liver? I’m still a fully qualified midwife.”

“...We don’t have any instruments.”

“Right,” Patsy nods, “So, what do you do?”

Delia turns to the attendant, with a list of instructions and items for him to collect. 

She looks at Patsy, “...Do you think that’s everything?”

“Sounds very thorough to me. But you’re the boss here,” The redhead grins proudly, “I’m just following orders.”

Delia speaks with the mother-to-be for a moment, asking her name (which is Eilis) and permission to do an examination (which is granted).

First looks reveal a large purple bruise on the blonde’s thigh.

“How did that happen?” Delia asks softly.

Because nurses already know how bruises like that happen and they don’t want victims of abuse to feel like they’re being interrogated.

Eilis tenses anyway, “I...fell.”

Delia shares a concerned glance with Patsy.

Well, that explains why the blonde is on a long-distance train at forty weeks. 

She’s running away from someone. 

“Falling could be dangerous for you and Baby. Have you been to hospital about it?” 

“Will something be wrong with my baby?” The blonde’s eyes fill with tears.

“Nurse Mount and I are going to do everything we can to make sure you will both be just fine.” Delia soothes.

“You got lucky today, Eilis.” Patsy mentions as the brunette carries on with her examination, “You’re with a real expert. Nurse Busby once delivered a baby _by phone!_ She’s a legend among midwives. She could do it blindfolded, both hands tied behind her back.”

Eilis lets out a breathy laugh and looks at Delia, “You’re that good?”

The brunette shakes her head modestly and opens her mouth, ostensibly to refute Patsy’s effusive praise, but-

“-She’s the best,” The redhead affirms with a supportive hand on Delia’s shoulder, before she can say anything too humble. 

The brunette pales a bit and turns to Patsy once the examination is complete.

“It’s breech...I think,” Delia says under her breath.

“You _think?_ ” Patsy mutters back with a raised eyebrow.

“I know it is,” The smaller woman confirms more confidently. She steps aside, “You should take over.”

“No. You know what to do,” Patsy encourages.

“I’ve only seen it done twice in training,” Delia counters.

“Is something wrong?” Eilis asks fearfully.

“Not at all,” Patsy assures, “Baby’s just got itself a bit turned round. Nothing Nurse Busby can’t handle.”

“Pats…” The brunette trails off uncertainty.

The redhead pulls Delia out into the corridor so they can speak privately for a moment.

“Look at me, take a deep breath,” Patsy says bracingly, and she waits for the smaller woman to focus on her, “You know I would never put a patient in danger. If I thought you weren’t capable, I would say so. But I have _complete_ faith in you, you can do this.” 

Delia takes a breath and nods, “I can do this.”

“That’s my girl,” Patsy beams, “If I can do any of this stuff, then you can do it ten times better...”

...Which proves to be true. 

Because, a few hours later, the baby is perfectly fine. 

And so is her mother. 

And their train should be arriving at King’s Cross shortly.

Delia tries to hand the baby to Eilis, but the new mum refuses. 

“I have to give her up,” The blonde admits, “If I hold her, I won’t be able to.”

“Why do you need to give her up?” Patsy questions. 

“...I can’t say.”

“Is there someone at home who you’re afraid of?” Delia tries a more direct approach. 

The blonde’s lower lip quivers and she responds with something unintelligible. 

“Eilis, please talk to us, we can help,” The brunette says, “We won’t judge you about anything. Honestly, we won’t.” 

“You’ve been so kind,” Eilis gives her a watery smile, “I want my daughter to be raised by someone kind. Will you take her?”

Delia balks at that, “I- I can help get you in touch with Children’s Services if you truly want to put her up for adoption. But I can’t just take her, it doesn’t work that way.” 

An ambulance is called once the train reaches King’s Cross. 

Even though mother and baby both appear to be doing well, it’s best to be on the safe side considering the unusual circumstances of the delivery.

Delia goes with them to hospital.

While Patsy collects Garbo and takes him to the old Victorian house.

She’d spent a few summers here growing up. 

It was a place for her father to stow her, when school closed and he was too busy to send for her to join him wherever he happened to be in the world.

It’s a bit spooky, being here alone.

The decor is very dark and foreboding. 

There would be a maid around to keep things in order most of the year, but she’s on holiday for Christmas.

Patsy’s father had continuously employed a full array of household staff at each of his homes, to have the properties always at the ready in the event he needed to do business in one of those cities.

The redhead feels a bit _pompous_ , having ‘servants’ do everything for her.

She’d be more comfortable cleaning for herself, to be honest. 

But she can’t clean five houses at once.

And even if she could, she wouldn’t want to put anyone her father had been employing out of a job.

The idea of sacking them all makes her feel even more like a cold blooded imperial capitalist.

She goes to the parlor and turns on the radio, to keep herself company.

It’s older than she is and the sound quality leaves something to be desired. 

They have a shiny new television set in Scotland, of course. 

But as they didn’t have any intention of spending much time in London, Patsy hadn’t seen a point in buying one for this house.

Not one of her better decisions, as she’s now learning. 

Garbo is a bit hyper active, presumably because of the new surroundings.

He sniffs everything, sprints around the main floor of the house a few times - and then bolts up the stairs. 

Delia calls from the hospital to say she’ll be late.

And Patsy smokes and tries to get a fire started in the master bedroom to make it a bit more cosy for when the brunette comes home.

“I’m shattered, do you mind if I skip supper and just go have a bath?” Delia says, when she finally arrives.

“I’ll bring you up some tea,” Patsy places an affectionate kiss on the smaller woman’s forehead.

By the time the redhead manages to find everything in the kitchen, actually produce a cup of tea, and get it upstairs - the brunette has already migrated to their bedroom.

She’s stood in front of the dressing table in her nightgown, brushing her hair out.

And Patsy watches admiringly.

Delia catches her staring after a moment, their eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“What are you thinking?” The brunette asks quietly.

_You are_ so _beautiful._

Patsy stands behind her, gathering the brunette’s hair and moving it aside, so as to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Thank you for believing in me today,” Delia murmurs.

“I believe in you _every day_.” The redhead wraps her arms around the smaller woman in a warm embrace. “How did things turn out?”

“Someone from the NSPCC is seeing to the baby. Eilis never even held her. I couldn’t get through, Pats. The best I could do was refer her to a domestic abuse counsellor.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do. We can only help people if they let us.”

“...A part of me did want to keep the baby.”

“I understand,” The redhead says sympathetically, “We go into situations all the time where the family dynamic isn’t ideal. And here these people are, bringing a child into the mix. It’s normal to feel protective of the innocent victims in these cases.”

“I felt more than just a ‘good samaritan’ sort of protectiveness.”

“How do you mean?” Patsy frowns with confusion.

“I want to adopt a baby,” Delia turns round and looks up at the redhead.

And Patsy blinks incredulously, “...You think...someone is going to let...an unwed woman...adopt a baby?”

“I talked with the lady from Children’s Services this evening. She says it’s unusual for single mothers to adopt, but not impossible...especially if they’re financially independent - which is why I think _you_ should be the one to apply.”

“Oh do you?” Patsy laughs, because this is entirely mad.

“Your money can open all sorts of doors for you.”

“ _Our_ money,” The redhead corrects firmly, “It’s equally yours. You know I don’t think of it as mine alone.” 

“But everyone else does. In this situation we need to play along. Children’s Services will want to know why you have your ‘friend’ living with you. I think we should tell them I’m your personal secretary.”

“My personal secretary!?”

“It’s _almost_ true,” Delia stretches the definition of the word ‘true’ to its very limit, “You do often ask me to write letters for you.”

“Only because I don’t know where the commas go. Grammar rules are completely nonsensical.” Patsy grumbles.

Give her maths and sciences, something with solid formulas and fixed answers, she can sort that out. 

Writing is too vague and flowery. 

_Who could possibly suss out where the bloody commas are supposed to go?_

Delia can.

Of course.

And she can do it in two different languages.

“Secretary makes the most sense. We have proof that I’ve written letters for you. And I’m good with a typewriter. I mean, we could say I’m your seamstress but that story would fall apart instantly if anyone asked me to demonstrate my sewing skills.”

“It just seems so _sordid_ \- sleeping with my secretary,” Patsy muses humorously, “I’d feel like a balding middle aged man, cheating on my wife.”

The brunette rolls her eyes, “It’s not cheating if your wife and your secretary are the same person.”

“What about the fact that you already have a job? Or, you will very shortly.”

“It’s within the realm of plausibility that I could be a midwife and a secretary. Lots of people have two jobs,” Delia answers, in a way that makes it seem like she’s already considered all the angles. 

“...You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

“You’ve always been so good with children,” The smaller woman gazes up at Patsy with a sort of starry eyed expression, and plays with the collar of the redhead’s shirt, “I used to love watching you with the boys at Cubs. It made me think about what it would be like, if we could have a family.”

“Hopefully a slightly less manic family,” Patsy chuckles in reference to the unruly horde of boys.

“I know you want this just as much as I do. You once said the only thing that bothers you about being queer is that we can’t have children of our own. But we could, if we’re willing to be a bit creative. Will you think about it, please?” The brunette presses the subject hopefully.

“I can’t promise I can convince anyone to give me a child, but we can look into it, when we get back to Scotland.” 

Delia beams, “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Patsy brings her hands up to cradle the brunette’s face and leans in for a tender kiss.

“Let’s go back. Tomorrow.” The brunette suddenly says when they break the kiss, “Once you’ve finished with the bank.”

“You were the one who convinced me to come down here.” The redhead laughs, “Now you want to turn round and go right back?”

“I want to have Christmas in the home where we plan to raise our children,” Delia says dreamily, wrapping her arms around Patsy’s waist, “And I can book the next available exam date. We can finally be settled, you know? Properly start our life together.”

Patsy smiles adoringly at her, “I like that sound of that. We’ve certainly waited long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not actually going back to Scotland...


	3. Let’s Stay At Nonnatus

Delia accompanies Patsy to the bank in the morning.

A bespectacled supervisor takes them into a back office where Patsy is to sign some documents before she can collect whatever is in the safe deposit box.

But the chap from the bank stops her before she can go through the papers-

“-Trust documents are very complicated, perhaps it would be best if your husband read this for you.” 

He leans to one side slightly, to look behind her.

As if she might be hiding a small man back there.

“I don’t have a husband,” She turns her attention to the papers again-

“-You’re not married?”

“Not to a _man_ ,” She parses her words for her own amusement because she can tell he’s not clever enough to understand what she means. 

“Might your father be able to read it for you?”

“He’s dead...he’s the one who left this trust to me,” She tries to look back at the papers but-

“-Oh. My apologies. A solicitor, then?”

“I can _read_ , you know. They do actually teach that to girls in school now,” She says dryly, with one last attempt to look at the papers-

“-Really, Miss Mount, these things aren’t written to be understood by the layperson. I would be remiss if I didn’t strongly advise you to have someone who you know to be _above_ average intelligence read it over for you.”

“Alright then,” Patsy looks him dead in the eye, casually leans back in her chair, and hands the papers to Delia, “Will you read this over for me, Deels?”

The brunette has the courtesy to give him a little smirk - when she points out the error on page fourteen.

Eventually, he opens the safe deposit box for them with a flourish. 

Which makes the contents seem all that much more anti-climactic. 

The box is completely empty, except for a small ornamental key. 

Patsy frowns and picks it up, “What is this key for? Is it to another safe deposit box?” 

Because she has this ridiculous thought that perhaps she’s going to have to open a series of boxes with keys in them, before she gets to the real one. 

Or, maybe she’ll need a male chaperone for this too. 

But the chap shakes his head, “That’s certainly not a key to any of our safety deposit boxes.”

“Well, were there some instructions left on how to use it?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Mount.”

“Fantastic, absolutely smashing,” Patsy tosses the key back into the box with disgust, “Another one of my father’s cryptic wild goose chases. We came all the way down here for a key to _nothing._ ”

She turns to leave but Delia catches her elbow.

“Aren’t you going to take it with you?” The brunette gestures at the key.

“No. I don’t care anymore. I’m done with it all.”

Delia gathers up the key anyway.

“You might want it someday,” She says evenly, as she follows Patsy out of the bank.

It’s a cool, crisp late morning when they arrive at Nonnatus. 

They’re stopping here only for an hour or two, before they leave to catch their afternoon train.

It’s the one part of this visit to London that Patsy had actually been looking forward to.

But the house is completely empty. 

Most everyone is at some kind of special clinic. 

Phyllis had been sitting by the phone. 

But she’d gone out for a delivery, shortly after Patsy and Delia arrived. 

Even Sister Monica Joan is out, shopping for Christmas decorations with Fred. 

“Shall we just...go to the train station then?” Patsy toes at the floor dejectedly, standing in the empty parlor with Delia.

The front door opens as they’re putting their coats on.

“Nurse Mount. Nurse Busby. What a lovely surprise!” Shelagh Turner greets them with her seemingly ever-growing brood of children in tow.

“How are you, Mrs. Turner?” Delia asks pleasantly. 

“I’m in a bit of a state, actually,” Shelagh confides, “I was hoping Nurse Crane could look after the children. I can’t find anyone to take them and Patrick needs me, he’s overrun at the surgery.”

“Nurse Crane is out on call,” The brunette explains.

“Oh dear,” Shelagh says fretfully.

“...But we can mind the children for you,” Delia offers.

Patsy raises her eyebrows. 

_We can?_

She was under the impression that they were supposed to be on a train to Edinburgh in a few hours.

“Would you? Oh, thank you!” Mrs. Turner unloads the children, handing Patsy a toddler and a large bag full of clean nappies and ushering forward two little girls. 

The redhead is somewhat familiar with the Turner family. 

She assumes the little boy in her arms must be baby Teddy. 

And she knows Angela. 

But she doesn’t recognise the other little girl.

“Hello,” Patsy says with a friendly smile, “What’s your name?”

“This is May,” Mrs. turner tries to introduce the girl. 

But May shrinks away and clings to the sleeve of Angela’s coat.

“She’s rather shy,” Shelagh explains patiently, “She understands English very well but she doesn’t speak it yet. Patrick and I are planning to foster her until her adoptive parents can take her. I just fetched her from the orphanage at the Mother House this morning. She’s been having a difficult time there since she arrived from Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong, you say?” Patsy’s curiosity is piqued by a bit of locational coincidence.

“Oh, that’s right, you were there just recently. You didn’t learn any Chinese, by chance? I think even just a few words might help her to feel more comfortable.”

“...I only know a bit, I’ll do my best,” The redhead offers.

“Oh, thank you so much Nurse Mount, you’re such a dear.” 

Mrs. Turner thanks Patsy and Delia again, and then promptly bustles out of the house.

Delia herds the children into the parlor and finds some paper and pencils for them to draw with.

Angela talks animatedly about making a list for Father Christmas, scribbling illegibly over her paper. 

Teddy just sort of stabs at the paper a few times, until Delia catches his chubby wrist with concern and gives him a wooden spoon from the kitchen to play with instead.

May sits quietly with her paper, somewhat removed from the rest of the action.

Patsy approaches and asks gently in Cantonese - “Is it alright if I sit here?”

She picked up a bit of the Chinese dialect while she was visiting her father.

It’s not much. 

Just some basic vocabulary and a few key phrases.

The pronunciation is probably rather rough. 

But the little girl’s face lights up at hearing something familiar. 

The last time she heard Cantonese was likely when she was separated from her birth mother.

From the moment she was taken into care in Hong Kong, May would have been inundated with English, in an attempt to prepare her for adoption.

Well meaning, but not exactly the most sensitive approach. 

The redhead sits cross legged on the floor with the little girl.

May giggles, touching Patsy’s hair and remarking on how strange the colour is. 

The girl points approvingly at Delia.

And the redhead laughs and translates, “I think she’s saying she likes you, because your hair is a normal colour.”

The brunette smiles at the girl, “Well, I really like your drawing. Can you show me how you did that?”

May seems very excited that someone has taken an interest in her creative endeavor. 

She reaches for Delia’s hand and gently pulls the brunette to sit next to her.

As the little thing draws, she asks Patsy to sing some kind of song.

And Patsy’s heart aches because she doesn’t know the song and she can tell it would be a great comfort if she did. 

The redhead turns to Delia, “Will you be alright looking after the children alone, while I go out for a bit?”

“I wanted us to watch them together,” The brunette is obviously disappointed. “It’s good experience, for when we have our own.”

But Patsy is already halfway to the front door.

She calls over her shoulder, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise...”

...That was four hours ago.

Delia is a bit irritated, if the tone of her voice is anything to go by, when Patsy returns.

The brunette meets Patsy by the front door, fussing over the fact that the redhead had forgotten her scarf earlier.

“You’ll catch your death dressed like this. Where have you been? I was worried.”

“I had to do something important.”

“What could possibly have been so important?” The brunette crosses her arms. 

“I needed to find this,” Patsy hands over a piece of paper with Cantonese Pinyin and English translations written on it, “And then I needed to learn how to pronounce it all.”

“...What is it? Yue Guang Guang?” Delia reads, with near perfect pronunciation. 

Patsy raises her eyebrows with an impressed grin. Because she was physically _in_ Hong Kong for months and she’s still not that good.

“It’s a song. A lullaby, I think” The redhead explains, “May wanted me to sing it to her earlier but I didn’t know it, so I went to the-”

-She’s cut off by Delia’s soft lips on hers. 

“You’re an angel,” The brunette whispers when they part, any previous anger visibly dissolving, “Sometimes I can’t even believe how wonderful you are.”

And Patsy is only capable of grinning like an idiot in response to that. 

Delia takes the redhead’s hand and leads her into the kitchen where the children are gathered round the table eating.

Or, in Teddy’s case - throwing food on the floor.

The brunette explains quietly, “Shelagh called at half past and asked if I would fix them something, she wants us to try to put them down for a nap after. I’ve set out some blankets in the Parlor. But she says May might not go down. Apparently she’s hardly been sleeping at the Mother House.”

The children curl up on the sofa with Delia while the brunette tells them a story. 

Some sort of Arthurian Welsh fairytale.

May crawls into Delia's lap and tucks her little head under the brunette’s chin.

And Delia looks as though she’s about to positively die over how adorable she thinks it is.

After the story, Patsy stumbles her way through the lullaby she learned earlier. 

May reaches over and grips the sleeve of the redhead’s jumper in a way that makes it seem as though she’s afraid Patsy will disappear into thin air. 

And Patsy’s voice catches as she sings. 

Because this sweet little girl has already lost too much. 

And she’s going to lose this song as well. 

She’ll be adopted by British parents and taught British lullabies. 

They probably won’t even give a second thought to preserving May’s memories of China. 

During the last verse, Mrs. Turner and Sister Julienne happen to arrive at the same time. 

“It’s so nice to have you both back,” Sister Julienne smiles at Patsy and Delia, “I see you’ve become fast friends with May.”

Shelagh looks on in awe, as the girl slumbers serenely in Delia’s arms.

“I have never seen her so at peace,” Shelagh whispers, “You two are miracle workers.”

“It was all Patsy,” Delia gazes at the redhead, eyes sparkling with love, “I think that lullaby did the trick.”

They leave the children to have a little kip in the parlor, and the four women move their conversation into the corridor.

“Nurse Mount, I don’t mean to overstep, but have you ever considered fostering?” Shelagh probes gently, “I think you might just be exactly what May needs.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Sister Julienne agrees.

“ _Me?_ ” Patsy is completely dumbfounded, “No, surely she would do better with a more experienced parent like yourself, Mrs. Turner.”

“I’m not sure Patrick and I can give her the kind of individual attention that she really needs. It was better than the orphanage, but now that you’re back-” 

“-Well, Delia and I are returning to Edinburgh today,” The redhead corrects apologetically, “I would love to look after May, but I’m afraid we can’t make any long term plans here.”

Shelagh looks down sadly, “Oh, what a shame-” 

“-Actually, Pats,” Delia interjects, “There’s that thing we’re staying here in London for, remember?” 

“No,” Patsy frowns, perplexed, “There’s nothin-”

-Delia gives the redhead a look, which Patsy has come to learn over the years means: ‘STOP TALKING.’

And so Patsy snaps her jaw closed.

Because she knows better than to disobey a direct, albeit unspoken, order from Delia.

“Yes, you remember,” The brunette repeats with insistence, “ _That thing._ ”

“Ohhh,” Patsy somewhat catches on, “Right. Yes. _That_ thing…?” She tries her best to play along awkwardly.

“If you’re staying and you’re interested in fostering - I will personally give my glowing recommendation,” Sister Julienne offers, “I think Mother Mildred will agree that you would be the ideal carer in May’s unique case.”

“Let’s go call the Mother House now!” Shelagh claps her hands together with delight. 

As soon as Mrs. Turner and Sister Julienne leave the corridor, Patsy turns to Delia. 

“What on earth was that about?” The redhead whispers, thoroughly confused at this point.

“I want to stay in London and foster May, obviously.” Delia whispers back with excitement.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago, you couldn’t wait to go back up north and adopt a baby!”

“That was before we met May.”

“What about Scotland? We were starting a life there, you were finally going to take your exam.”

“I can wait a bit longer for that,” The brunette dismisses the concern, “Pats, it would mean the world to me if we fostered May. And, more importantly, I think it would mean the world to _her_.”

“You’re sure, this is what you want?”

“Yes.” Delia bounces on her feet happily, “More than anything.”

Sister Julienne and Mrs. Turner return not long after that.

“You’ll need to have a visit from Children’s Services before you can take May home with you,” Sister Julienne explains to Patsy, “A foster home can’t officially be approved sight-unseen. Of course, the Turners are still happy to take her in the interim.”

“But there is another option, which I think would be better for May,” Shelagh adds, “Mother Mildred said that it would be acceptable for the girl to stay here in the care of Nonnatus House until your home can be approved.”

“And I would be happy to invite you to stay here along with her,” Sister Julienne finishes.

Patsy hesitates and turns to Delia, “You would have to go back to the house, to look after Garbo.”

The idea of being apart from Delia again, even for a few nights, isn’t something that the redhead is entirely sure she can cope with. 

“Who is Garbo?” Mrs. Turner asks curiously. 

“Our dog,” Delia clarifies.

“He’s welcome to stay here as well,” Sister Julienne allows, “I’ll trust you to keep him out of the clinical room.”

“You won’t even know he’s here,” Patsy promises, “I’ll have everything spotless.” 

“May will take the room at the end of the corridor. Of course, that only leaves one other room free,” Sister Julienne looks between Patsy and Delia, “I hope it won’t be a problem for you two to share?” 

“No. That won’t be a problem at all,” Delia replies.

And she actually has the audacity to reach behind Patsy and give the redhead’s bottom a saucy little pinch.

The way they’re standing - the action goes unseen by Sister Julienne and Mrs. Turner.

But it still makes Patsy yelp with surprise.

“Are you alright, Nurse Mount?” Sister Julienne looks at the redhead with concern.

“Yes.” Patsy squeaks, blushing furiously. “Fine. Thank you.”

When Sister Julienne looks away again, to discuss something with Shelagh, the redhead shoots a warning glance at Delia.

And the brunette responds with the cheekiest of grins.

“Never thought we’d me making love in a nunnery again,” She adds under her breath. 

That evening, Patsy reminisces about ‘the good old days’ with everyone around the table at supper.

She listens with interest to a few war stories from the newer nurses. 

Then she debates Phyllis and Sister Julienne on the merits of epidurals versus nitrous oxide.

And the redhead laughs with Trixie about the time, way back in ‘59, when they went out to a noisy pub - and everyone watched with disbelief as Cynthia trounced a big hulking chap at a game of snooker.

May and Garbo were inseparable from the moment they met.

They play together cheerfully in the parlor after everyone has finished with their meal, until May’s eyelids begin to droop, the poor little thing must be exhausted from all the excitement of the day.

Patsy carefully carries the girl upstairs to bed. 

“Let’s stay here,” Delia says quietly, as she tucks May in and presses a kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead.

“We are. I’ve already agreed to stay in London,” Patsy furrows her brow, because she thought that had been sorted.

“No, I mean, let’s stay at Nonnatus while we’re looking after her.”

“You want to move back in _here_?”

“I think _you_ want to move back in here,” Delia gives her a knowing look. “I saw how happy you were, catching up with Trixie and Phyllis at supper tonight.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I can’t wait to go back to our house.” Patsy suddenly becomes very interested in picking at a loose thread on May’s blankets.

“Fibber. You’re miserable there. You hate living in those big empty houses.”

“We can’t live here.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you wanted us to have our own home. And I want _so much_ to give you that.” 

“I wanted us to live under the same roof, I never said it had to be a posh terraced house next door to Kensington Gardens.”

“But you wanted yellow walls and china with a modern pattern. You’ve already chosen the wallpaper up in Scotland. We can do the same to the house here.”

“Wallpaper and china don’t make a house a home. The people inside it do. You love these people, they’re your family. And they’ve become mine as well. I want to stay.”

They try to coax Garbo out of the room, to sleep on his little bed that they had laid out for him in the parlor.

But he refuses to leave.

“She’s quite the popular girl,” Patsy murmurs with amusement, watching as Garbo curls up by the foot of May’s bed. 

“Of course she is. She’s so lovely.” Delia stroke’s the girl’s cheek, “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Along with you,” Patsy presses a kiss to the smaller woman’s hair.

“You have to look at some of the drawings she did earlier, Pats. She’s so creative. And feisty!” Delia laughs lightly, “She’ll be a terror as a teenager. She’s going to do all sorts of incredible things, I’m sure. I wish we could be there, to see her grow up...”

The redhead sighs, “Don’t do this to yourself Deels, don’t get too attached when you know we’ll have to let her go.”

“No, of course, I know.” The brunette says, completely unconvincingly. 

And Patsy has a sinking feeling that it’s already too late. 

Delia is in love, and she’s going to get her heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is getting their heart broken. This is fluff. I promise.


	4. She Makes Everything Better

**January, 1964**

May’s first British words are actually in Welsh. Not English.

They haven’t pushed her to speak anything other than Cantonese at home. 

She gets plenty of subtle pressure from everyone else she encounters. 

Initially they got by on a combination of improvised sign language and what little Cantonese Patsy already knew. 

She and Delia have also been going to Cantonese classes.

Delia took to it right away. 

She was always bilingual to begin with, perhaps she’s predisposed for thinking in multiple languages. 

Patsy has struggled to expand much beyond the handful of memorised phrases and words that she initially learned in Hong Kong. 

She’s never been particularly skilled at languages. 

As a child she understood some Malay and Japanese. But she’s lost it all now.

In fairness, that was during a part of her life that she has tended to block from her memory whenever possible. 

After that, she had four years of French at school. 

And, realistically, all she can remember is: ‘How much does it cost?’ and ‘Where is the loo?’ 

Combining those two things she can also ask: ‘How much does the loo cost?’ 

Which might seem ridiculous - unless one has been to Paris, and then one knows how relevant that question actually is. 

In any event-

-Today is Delia’s birthday.

The rest of the house organised a lovely little luncheon with a cake earlier.

And Patsy is a bit proud of herself, because she has the absolute perfect evening planned. 

Supper at Club de Lafayette. 

Tickets to the ballet - _Orchestra, mind you. The very best seats._

And the redhead had casually suggested that her and Delia should stay over at the house in Kensington tonight- 

‘-You know, because it will be relatively late after the ballet finishes and it’s closer to the Royal Opera House than having to come all the way back across the city to Poplar’.

_Not because there’s freshly scattered rose petals and a bottle of champagne waiting in the master bedroom._

Delia is just deciding which shoes to wear.

And Patsy is putting the finishing touches on her makeup when-

-May walks into the room in her little dressing gown, clutching her fuzzy toy lamb in one hand, Garbo attentively stood by her side.

The girl says a few words in Welsh akin to ‘Eugh, my head!’ which Delia has been saying a lot recently, because she’s been spending every free moment studying (as they’re planning to stay in London for the foreseeable future, she’s booked her exam here instead of in Edinburgh). 

But why May has adopted that particular phrase is not initially clear. 

“Are you alright, Little One?” Patsy asks while she finishes applying mascara.

May scratches at the collar of her nightgown, complaining about having a headache and being hot and itchy.

Delia feels the girl’s forehead and peeks into the neck of her nightdress to see what she’s scratching at.

“Varicella,” The brunette informs Patsy. 

“There you are!” Sister Frances shows up in the doorway, she volunteered to look after May for the evening, and it appears that the girl had escaped her, “You have to look for me when I hide, May. That’s sort of the whole point of the game.”

“It seems you’ve been relieved of duty this evening. May has chickenpox,” Patsy tells the young woman, “We’ll stay home with her.” 

“You don’t have to stay. I can manage chickenpox, that’s easy.” Sister Frances shrugs.

Patsy doesn’t respond right away, torn between wanting to look after the little girl and not wanting to ruin Delia’s birthday plans. 

“No, I think we should stay,” The brunette decides for them. 

“She’ll be fine.” Sister Frances assures, “Sister Julienne is just down the corridor and Doctor Turner is only a call away.”

“Well...I suppose.” Delia reluctantly agrees, “But if her condition changes at all, if her fever goes up even a degree, you have to call us. Do you have the telephone number for the re-”

“-Restaurant? Yes. And the number for Miss Mount’s house in Kensington. Go out and have fun with your friend, I’ve got everything under control,” Sister Frances smiles and tries to steer May out of the room.

But-

“-I want my Mam!” The girl demands, _in English._

She bursts into tears and reaches for Delia.

Poor Sister Frances looks a bit traumatized that the mere spectre of spending the evening with her has propelled the four-year-old into hysterics.

“Was it something I said?” The young nun asks no one in particular.

Delia, meanwhile, scoops May up into her arms, “Shhh, Cariad, it’s alright. I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

And Patsy speaks gently to the little girl, “Sweetheart. You understand that I’m looking after you and Delia is just our friend, right?” 

The brunette sets her jaw, but otherwise doesn’t protest.

Because it has to be done. 

They can’t have Sister Frances wondering why May seems to think Delia is her mother.

If the young nun thinks anything queer is going on, she has a direct line to report it back to Mother Mildred.

But May giggles, as if Patsy has said the silliest thing in the world, and replies, again in English.

“No...Delia is my Mam and you’re my Mummy.”

“No, Cariad.” The brunette tries, “But you’ve got a Mummy and a Daddy who you’re going to live with very soon.”

“One Mummy and one Daddy?” The girl questions skeptically.

“Yes, exactly.” Delia says, with some apparent relief that everything has been explained, “You’ve got it.”

“Why would I go someplace with only one Mummy when I already have two? No, I want to stay here.” The girl speaks with a shrewd decisiveness.

It strikes Patsy as very reminiscent of a tone Delia might use.

The brunette sighs, having evidently realised there’s no arguing with May about this. 

And Patsy grins at the smaller woman. 

_Welcome to my world, Darling._

The redhead spares a glance at Sister Frances, to gauge the young nun’s reaction to this topic of conversation.

“...She makes a good point,” Sister Frances says pensively, “Now I sort of wish I’d had two mums.”

“Children say the wildest things,” Patsy laughs it off. 

And Sister Frances is easily lead, because she laughs along.

The young woman simply attributes the whole thing to childhood whimsy.

“That was close,” Delia looks at Patsy when Sister Frances leaves them.

The redhead simply lets out a breath, blowing her fringe out of her eyes.

It turns into a long night.

As May’s fever progresses, she gets more and more agitated. 

She cries and won’t go to sleep in her bed, so Delia paces the room with the girl in her arms.

The brunette sends Patsy downstairs to call Doctor Turner.

And then to make May some milky tea. 

And then to fetch something cool for the girl’s forehead.

And then Patsy takes her heels off, because - _why the hell am I still wearing these?_

Doctor Turner confirms the diagnosis.

Classic case of chickenpox. 

It’s been going around lately. 

Angela came down with it this afternoon.

The two girls play together nearly every day with the neighborhood children, it was more or less inevitable that the virus would pass to May.

Fortunately, Doctor Turner doesn’t find any complications. 

He bids them goodnight and assures them that, unless May’s temperature rises to an unsafe level, there’s likely nothing to worry about. 

Other than keeping the girl comfortable, and trying to stop her from scratching the spots.

Delia tells May’s favorite story over and over to divert her attention.

“...And then the Fairy Princess put on her prettiest dress and she married the Fairy Prince, and they lived happily ever after.” The brunette finishes the story for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Mam. What does ‘married’ mean?” May asks inquisitively. 

“Well, it’s when two people love each other always.” Delia attempts to explain it in a way a small child will understand.

“Did you have a pretty dress like the Fairy Princess when you married Mummy?”

The brunette freezes in place, “We’re not married, Cariad. What would make you think that?”

“You just said: when two people love each other they get married.”

“Not all the time. There are different rules for different kinds of people. It’s against the rules for two girls to get married.”

“You should get married anyway,” May whispers conspiratorially, “Mother Mildred always told me ‘no puddings before supper’ was a rule, but Sister Monica Joan and I sometimes eat cake first anyway.” 

And Delia shares a small smile with Patsy over how adorable the girl is. 

About three hours later, May finally dozes off in the brunette’s arms.

“Perhaps she’ll go down now, and we can see if there’s any leftovers from supper,” Patsy says, when her stomach growls.

“I’m not leaving her. I told her I wouldn’t leave,” Delia says quietly. 

She seems entirely determined to carry the girl around all night.

“At least sit, Darling. I’ll bring you up something.”

When the redhead returns, Delia has taken the suggestion. She’s sat to one side of the small bed, with her back against the headboard and Garbo curled up by her feet, May still asleep in her arms.

The brunette pats the spot next to her with a tired smile.

“Well, it’s not Club de Lafayette...” Patsy joins them on the bed and hands over a half empty crisp packet, “But it’s all I could find that was remotely appetising, unless you fancy eating salad cream right from the jar, or Trixie’s raw egg white face mask - it looked like it had already been used, but I could still try to whip you up a souffle-“

“-Stop!” Delia laughs softly and gives the redhead a playful swat on the arm, “I’ll be sick.”

Patsy chuckles at her own joke and continues, “There was a piece of cake left over from your luncheon earlier. But it’s mysteriously disappeared.”

“Can’t imagine where it might have gone.” The brunette smiles knowingly.

“I’m sorry,” Patsy sighs, “I wanted your birthday to be perfect for you.”

“It _was_ perfect, I got to spend it with the two people I love most in the world. I don’t need French cuisine or tickets to the ballet, Pats. I’m happy eating stale crisps and reciting The Fairy Queen of Caragonan twenty times, as long as I’m with you. ”

Patsy gives the smaller woman a tender look.

And the redhead reaches over to brush a lock of hair from May’s face.

The girl doesn’t stir in the slightest. 

Patsy can’t blame her.

Cuddled up in Delia’s arms is the very nicest place to be. 

“What are we going to do about the fact that she thinks we’re married and we’re her mothers?” Patsy asks.

“She’s perceptive, she understands that we’re raising her together.” 

“I know _she_ understands. I’m more worried about everyone else.”

“You saw how Sister Frances was, people won’t think anything of it, they’ll assume that May is just young and confused because I’m your ‘best friend’ and I’m always around. I don’t see the harm in letting her call us what she wants.”

“She’s already taking right after you,” Patsy smiles, “She always knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to say so.”

“I was going to say she takes after _you_. She can’t sit still. She does that little thing you do when you’ve got too much energy, you know, the thing you do with your hands. It’s so adorable I could cry.”

“She’s going to have a difficult time in school,” The redhead sighs, “I was always getting walloped for fidgeting all day.”

“I wish we knew each other then, I would have protected you.” 

The redhead laughs, “You would have been even littler than I was!”

“Yes, but my rage has always been inversely proportional to my size. I’ve mellowed a lot over the years.”

“This is you _mellow_?” Patsy grins and raises her eyebrows, “Just the other week, you kicked a man in the shin for asking me what time of day it was.”

“He was trying to chat you up,” Delia says defensively, “You know I can’t stand it when men try to chat us up.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Deels. You’re beautiful when you’re cross. I find it very... _titillating._ ”

“The point is: I wouldn’t have let the evil nuns at your boarding school lay a finger on you.”

“Well, I’m just glad that you’re here to protect our daughter,” Patsy replies with a yawn.

And Delia looks at the redhead intently, “Our _daughter_?”

“Sorry, I meant our foste-”

“-No,” The smaller woman implores softly, “Don’t take it back. Please. It’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever said.” 

Patsy has tried her best to keep a healthy distance - to give everything she can to May, of course, but with the understanding that it’s not forever.

And now the redhead realises she’s only been fooling herself.

The bond is already unbreakable.

Delia was the clever one, she didn’t waste any time, she just let the love wash over her without resistance or pretense. 

“Yes, then. Our daughter.” Patsy says with resolve, “We’re a family.” 

_Even if only for a few more months._

The following week, May is feeling much better.

Patsy wouldn’t know first-hand, she’s hardly seen the girl.

The redhead has been stuck in meetings for days, discussing a long sought after merger with representatives from a rival brokerage firm.

They’ve hardly gotten anywhere, it’ll be weeks - if not months - of negotiations. Locked up in a room full of men with suits and condescending attitudes. 

The only thing that’s been getting her through are the calls she gets to make to Nonnatus around noon each day, when the men take their luncheon at a nearby pub. 

Delia deemed May well enough to come to the phone today.

Getting to hear her bright little voice was the highlight of Patsy’s week. 

The redhead told them both how much she missed them - how much she wished she could be there. 

And the little girl had asked Patsy to be home in time for lullabies and fairy tales and tuckings in.

But these meetings during the day are only half the battle. 

The real deals are made over drinks, late into the night. 

Patsy sits uncomfortably in a stuffy gentleman’s club and tries to talk business.

While the men she’s supposed to be working with puff away at cigars and drink themselves sick.

She enjoys a drink as much as the next person, but she can’t fathom how these chaps can do this _all night, every night._

Do they not ache to go home to their families in the same way she does?

Perhaps not, with the way they leer at the scantily clad waitresses.

The redhead is beyond furious with herself when she gets back to Nonnatus, because it’s much later than she’d hoped.

The other women of the house are evidently getting ready to turn in for the evening. There’s a group of them heading up the stairs when Patsy walks through the door. 

They stop on the landing for a moment to greet her.

Delia, who was among them, walks back down to join the redhead. 

May has already fallen asleep, quite some time ago, the brunette explains-

“-She tried staying awake for you, but she was just too tired, I think she’s still a bit under the weather.”

Patsy angrily tosses her scarf at the coat rack by the door and it flutters to the ground. 

Delia lays a soothing hand on her arm.

But Patsy jerks away. 

So the brunette moves to pick up the scarf-

“-Just leave it, Delia.” The redhead snaps. 

The smaller woman sighs and turns to go upstairs.

The other girls, still on the landing, all fall silent at witnessing the little domestic squabble.

They shift to one side of the stairs to let Delia pass by. 

Some of them avoid looking at Patsy. 

“Patience Elizabeth Mount,” Trixie tuts, “You march yourself right up these stairs and apologise to Delia. She’s been a saint this week, packing your lunches and doing your washing and looking after your foster daughter all by herself.” 

“This is a fine way to show your appreciation,” Phyllis adds, with a disapproving look.

And Patsy grits her teeth, because now she’s also angry at herself for being an arse.

When she’s cooled off enough to apologise properly, she finds Delia studying in their room.

“I’m sorry,” Patsy kneels penitently beside the bed, “I’m just cross with myself for letting May down, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You’ll find a way to make it up to her,” Delia strokes the redhead’s cheek softly, “How was your day?”

“Awful,” Patsy hangs her head rubs at the pain in her shoulders.

The brunette runs her hands over the muscles there in a brief massage. 

“You’re so tense.” 

“You know how I get when I have to sit all day long,” The redhead lays back on their bed with a frustrated sigh.

“Is there anything I can do to help you relax, My Love?” The brunette runs her fingers through Patsy’s hair.

And the redhead melts a bit at the touch, “That’s nice. Just having you near makes things better. I can’t wait to take some time off, to help you study. I wish we’d gotten a chance to work together more.” 

“We made a good team.”

“I miss it. Well - not male surgery. Good grief,” Patsy shares a weary look with Delia, “But I miss getting to see you all day. I miss having a job where I felt like I was doing something that actually mattered.”

“What you do now matters.”

“To whom? I’m fairly certain no one’s going to die if I don’t facilitate the chartering of ships.”

“Well...the ships could...be carrying something important?”

“The last deal we brokered was for the exportation of _cream whiskey_ from Belfast to San Francisco. I think I might actually be killing people now. Enabling their alcoholism and raising their cholesterol, all in one go.”

“I know what will take your mind off it and help you burn some of that excess energy,” The smaller woman moves to straddle the redhead.

And Patsy’s jaw goes a bit slack.

Because just thinking about Delia is usually enough to get the redhead _in the mood_ , as it were.

But this sort of thing absolutely sets her aflame.

She’s almost itching with desire.

The way the smaller woman’s dress is bunched up around her hips. 

The way she unpins her hair, dark tresses falling free around her shoulders. 

It’s incredible.

Delia moves to divest herself of her dress. 

But Patsy sits up, gently catching the brunette’s hands and kissing them reverently.

“Let me take it off you, please.” The redhead whispers. 

The smaller woman licks her lips and nods her consent and leans in for a kiss. 

The way they’re positioned, with the brunette still astride Patsy’s lap, it’s easy to reach around and find the buttons at the back of the dress. 

Even so, the redhead is having some trouble concentrating.

She takes her time, methodically unfastening each button, pausing to slide the dress down a bit, giving her enough room to expose one of Delia’s shoulders and plant a kiss there. 

Patsy carefully lifts the dress off. 

Then pulls her own shirt up over her head.

Her arms feel heavy for some reason. She’s almost out of breath.

But this is just what Delia does to her. 

Has always done.

It’s been nearly seven years since the very first time they made love. The passion has never waned. If anything, it’s gotten stronger.

As soon as the clothes are out of the way, Delia kisses her again.

Patsy wants to remove the smaller woman’s brassiere at that point, to kiss every bit of her and give her all the attention she deserves.

But the redhead is suddenly feeling very tired and she’d rather not nod off in the middle of everything, so she decides to abandon that plan for a more expedient one. 

She reaches down to find the soft skin of the brunette's inner thigh and the silky fabric of her knickers, inching up, waiting for a signal that it’s alright to continue.

And then the smaller woman’s hands are on Patsy - trailing up her arms, over her shoulders, clutching at her encouragingly. One goes to the back of her neck and then up to tangle in copper hair.

“God, you’re on fire,” Delia gasps against the redhead’s lips. 

“Yeah?” Patsy grins, spurred on by the sentiment, “You as well, you’re driving me wild.” 

“No, Pats.” The brunette pulls back and holds her hand against Patsy’s forehead, “You’re burning up, you’ve got a temperature.”

“Wha-” The redhead starts to ask thickly.

But then Delia brushes her fingertips over Patsy’s chest.

And the action would be quite erotic - if it weren’t for the alarming red spots the redhead sees when she looks down.

_Chickenpox. Varicella-zoster virus._

_Fever. Fatigue. Accompanied by characteristic rash, typically presenting on the chest and neck before spreading to the face and extremities._

Patsy smiles, pleased with herself. 

She can still remember things from nurses’ training, despite filling her head with ships brokerage nonsense lately.

“Did you not have chickenpox when you were young?” Delia questions.

“Of course I did. Everyone had chickenpox as a child...or...perhaps it was measles I had.”

The brunette gets up and pulls on her dressing gown.

She gently refuses any more of Patsy’s sluggish advances. 

And the redhead pouts with confusion, because Delia had said last week that she very clearly remembers having chickenpox when she was six, so-

“-You’re immune, what’s the matter?” Patsy tries to pull the brunette back to bed.

“My Love,” Delia explains slowly, “You’re running a fever. You seem a bit delirious, actually.”

_As if that’s any reason not to have sex_ \- Patsy has the sort of foggy thought while Delia disappears, saying something about a thermometer and calling Doctor Turner.

The redhead is sporting the mother-of-all pouts when the man arrives, about half an hour later.

Because she’s starting to feel very poorly now. 

On top of that, she’s still _frustrated_ that her earlier activities with Delia were interrupted.

“Not high enough for me to admit you to hospital,” Doctor Turner says when he checks Patsy’s temperature. “But you’re in for a rough few days, chickenpox as an adult is even less fun than it is for children.”

“Can you give me something to clear my head a bit? I have an important meeting tomorrow.”

He pauses, “...You’ll have to reschedule. You can’t go to work for at least a week.”

“But I feel fine!”

“Even if I believed that,” He gives her a look which says he patently does not, “It’s a matter of public health. You took a similar pledge to the one I did, I trust you won’t do anything to put others at risk of infection.”

The redhead sighs with irritation, “No, of course not.” 

“She’s always been a difficult patient,” Delia tells Doctor Turner apologetically. “Good at taking care of everyone else, not as good at being taken care of.”

“Shelagh is the same,” He says conversationally, as if they’re just two colleagues casually discussing their wives’ similar quirks, “She’d rather suffer through, than accept a simple aspirin sometimes.”

“This one _hates_ taking pills,” The brunette gestures at Patsy with a laugh, “I have to crush them up and mix them into custard for her.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” The man smiles, “I need to remember that for some of my other patients.”

“I did a stint in Paediatrics once,” Delia shrugs, “All the nurses used that trick to get medications into the kids.”

“Well, I can see you’ve got everything in order here,” Doctor Turner tells her.

And then he asks after May while the brunette walks him downstairs.

Patsy scratches all night.

And scratches.

And scratches.

Before Delia finally gets fed up and ties mittens around the redhead’s hands.

“Our four-year-old has more self control,” The smaller woman scolds fondly. 

She strokes Patsy’s hair and kisses her head and reads aloud to distract her. 

And Patsy snuggles up to Delia with a content little smile.

Because, if one ignores the itching, this is actually rather nice and peaceful.

“Thank you for looking after me,” The redhead murmurs, “For putting up with me, rather.”

“You daft old thing,” Delia laughs softly, “Don’t you know by now, how much I love putting up with you?” 

And Patsy falls asleep, feeling very loved indeed.

In the morning, May arrives in their room at her usual waking time - holding her little lamb and rubbing sleep out of her eyes, with Garbo trailing close behind.

“Mummy!” The girl squeals happily.

And the puppy yips, feeding off the girls excitement.

May jumps onto the bed and climbs into Patsy’s lap, throwing her little arms around the redhead.

And Patsy is starting to think being ill is actually the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

She would have already been gone by now if she were working today. 

She would have missed this. 

“You’ve got the itchy spots,” May notices, touching the redhead’s face curiously. “Don’t worry. Mam will make you better like she made me better.”

“She makes everything better.” Patsy hugs the little thing tight, “Do you know, I think we’re the luckiest two girls in the whole world - that we get to have her for our very own.”

“She’s the best Mam there is,” May agrees.

Delia shakes her head and smiles softly and kisses them both on the cheek. 

May looks up at Patsy, “Will you sing me Yue Guang Guang before you go to work today, Mummy?”

“I’m not going to work, I’m staying home with you two, all day.” 

“Wow! Can we play dinosaurs and tea parties!?”

“Nothing too spirited, Cariad.” Delia tells the girl, “Mummy needs to rest.”

“I’m alright, Deels, really.” Patsy assures, and then she taps the girl’s nose with affection, “We can do anything you want, My Little Princess.” 

Because she would happily give her last breath to do whatever their daughter asked.


	5. Never Been More In Love

**March, 1964**

Patsy didn’t sneak down to the kitchen to steal some of Trixie’s banana custard out of the icebox, or anything like that.

But the redhead stops, just short of the door, when she sees Nurse Dyer sat at the table. 

Because now Patsy has to come up with an excuse - _which has nothing to do with banana custard_ \- for why she’s down here at an hour when most everyone ought to have retired to their rooms for the evening.

And she almost doesn’t notice the tears in Valerie’s eyes.

Or the photograph she’s gazing at...of Nurse Anderson.

Lucille isn’t here currently, she’s on a date with a nice chap called Cyril. 

As soon as Valerie realises she’s not alone, she stuffs the photo into the pocket of her dressing gown and wipes at her eyes hastily. 

“Allergies,” She claims, “Always gets me this time of year.” 

The redhead nods at the obvious lie, and allows the younger woman to leave the kitchen without any further discussion.

Nurse Dyer seems like the type of person who would be too proud for pity or coddling anyway. 

Delia has books and revision material piled up on the second bed that they never use - when Patsy gets back to their room.

The brunette’s exam is tomorrow and she’s starting to get into that obsessive ‘singular focus mode’ she employs when she’s nearing the achievement of a goal. 

It’s adorable. 

“You’re _ready_ ,” Patsy affectionately knocks a book out of the smaller woman’s hands. “You were ready months ago. Don’t wear yourself out studying. All you need now is a good sleep and you’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Delia ignores her and simply picks up another book to begin reading that one. 

Patsy rolls the sleeves of her tartan shirt up to her elbows (the heat actually happens to be working this evening and it’s quite warm).

“Good of Sister Frances to get the heat sorted,” The redhead mentions. 

“Hmm,” Delia agrees absently, nose buried in her book.

“She’s rather handy. Begs the question as to why we’re still keeping Fred around. Men are so pointless.”

“Fred’s alright,” The brunette says tolerantly.

“Precisely. He’s one of the best. Which says it all about the male species, really.” Patsy closes the door to their room, “So...are you aware that Nurse Dyer is in love with Nurse Anderson?” 

“Mmhmm,” Delia answers sagely, still not looking up from the book she’s reading.

“Did you ever say anything to Valerie, back when she first arrived?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Did you ever advise her to be more... _discreet?_ She could lose her job. It’s amazing she’s avoided detection this long.” 

“Advise her to be more discreet how, exactly?”

Patsy lounges back on their bed - the one they actually use - and retrieves a cigarette from her pack on the nightstand, before reaching into the pocket of her trousers for her lighter.

“You know. All the tartan and trousers, making comments about how irrelevant men are, obviously pining after another nurse, always swaggering around with a cigarette in her mouth like she’s James Dean,” Patsy lights the cigarette between her own lips, “She’s so blatantly queer.”

Delia laughs, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle.”

“What?” 

“...You really don’t see it, do you?” The brunette finally looks up, as though she’s fascinated by how daft the redhead is.

“See what? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

Delia sits on the edge of their bed and wordlessly takes the cigarette from Patsy’s mouth, putting it out in the ashtray atop the nightstand.

“Actually, you have got a bit of custard,” The smaller woman kisses the corner of the redhead’s lips with a teasing grin.

“Sorry,” Patsy ducks her head.

“It’s nice to see that your appetite is back,” The brunette says softly, “You look really healthy, Pats. You’ve got some colour, I can’t count your ribs anymore. Being here at Nonnatus has been good for you. I’m happy we stayed.”

“And I’m happy with anything that makes you happy, Darling.” The redhead draws the smaller woman down to lay with her. 

Delia snuggles close with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should do something to help Val with Lucille, a bit of matchmaking.”

“We should stay out of it,” Patsy disagrees, “No one helped me when I was courting you.”

The smaller woman laughs at her, “You didn’t ‘court’ me, _I_ made the first move!”

The redhead grins, thinking back to when Delia arrived at The London to start her training.

With her pretty little smile and her lovely lilting accent.

And Patsy had been so smitten and useless that she could hardly speak to the new girl at all.

“That’s my point,” The redhead explains, “Lucille is clearly in charge of their budding enterprise. She’ll determine exactly what she wants and when she wants it. Valeire just needs to learn to surrender to the process.”

“Oh, is that how it works? Well then, I’ll give you a ‘process’ to surrender to,” Delia whispers as she trails a string of kisses along Patsy’s jawline. 

Then the smaller woman pulls back with the most devilishly sexy grin, running a hand tantalizingly up Patsy’s thigh, fingertips ghosting over the button of the redhead’s trousers. 

“You have to be more quiet than last time,” Patsy says as sternly as she can manage.

Which isn’t very stern at all, considering the amorous lopsided grin that accompanies the words. 

Not that she doesn’t absolutely _live_ for the thrill of hearing those soft little noises of pleasure from Delia, during their most intimate moments. 

There are truly no sweeter sounds.

_But a house full of nuns might not appreciate such things in the same way._

The redhead flips them over, perhaps with a bit too much ardor - because the narrow bed creaks ominously for a few seconds before collapsing with a _THUD_.

Patsy scrambles to get up.

Partly because the crash will bring the entire house to their room in a matter of seconds, and she can’t remember if she locked the door.

Mostly because she’s worried the smaller woman might have been hurt.

But Delia just giggles up at her, tongue in cheek, “You really have to be ‘more quiet’, My Love.” 

It’s not clear if Sister Julienne believes the pretext Patsy invents, to explain how the bed broke-

“-You were...playing cards?” The older woman asks dubiously, stood just inside the door.

She’s flanked by Nurse Crane and Nurse Franklin.

With Sisters Frances, Monica Joan, and Hilda gathered in the corridor, poking their heads in to get a glimpse.

“...Yes, cards.” The redhead swallows nervously, “Delia is very competitive.”

The brunette gives her a look.

It seems the smaller woman is peeved about being blamed for this. 

Patsy sends a look back, to say - _Well, you did start it._

Trixie narrows her eyes and regards the redhead skeptically.

Phyllis just pinches the bridge of her nose, as if listening to Patsy flounder so witlessly is physically giving her a headache.

“I see,” Sister Julienne says slowly, “Perhaps it would be best to keep things a bit more subdued from now on...but as long as no one was hurt, then there’s no harm done.”

“We’ll pay for any repairs, of course,” Patsy hastens to say.

Everyone leaves the room fairly quickly after that.

Except Trixie. 

She closes the door and gives Delia a hug for no apparent reason. 

“I love you both,” The blonde says, “But you really need to come up with a better story for next time.” 

Patsy frowns, “Sorry? I don’t-”

“-You’ve got a bit of lipstick on your collar there, Card Shark.” Trixie smirks at her, “And it’s definitely not your shade.” 

“You didn’t believe me the first time, did you?” Patsy sighs.

“Of course not. You can’t keep anything from me, we’re like sisters. Which is how I also know you’re the one who’s been stealing my banana custard.” 

“That could be anybody!” The redhead tries to save herself.

But the blonde picks up a book from Delia’s study collection and gives Patsy’s bicep a good _thwack_ with it. 

“I get one treat day a week, you clod!” Trixie hits her again, “Do you have any idea how many sit-ups I do so I can eat that custard!?” 

Delia stops the blonde from hitting Patsy a third time. 

And the redhead relaxes, thinking she’s been rescued. 

But the brunette simply hands Patsy over and redirects Trixie towards the door, “Take her somewhere else to exact your sibling justice. I need to study.” 

“Et tu, Deels?” 

Three days later, on Mothering Sunday, Patsy wakes up early. 

She attempts to make a french omelette and some crêpes. 

But, when that plan falls apart, she settles for scrambled eggs and toast. 

Getting everything on a tray, she goes back upstairs to help May into her best dress and tie a pretty bow in the girl’s hair. 

Patsy had given the girl a new set of watercolour paints yesterday, to make a card. 

And they spent some time digging about the allotment outside, where the girl picked and arranged a little bouquet of flowers. 

A card and flowers could have been purchased, of course. 

But Delia treasures May’s artwork above anything hanging in the Louvre, and certainly above anything a greeting card company could produce. 

The brunette keeps every single drawing the girl has ever done, lovingly preserved in a hatbox under their bed. 

Patsy gathers up the card and hands it, along with the bouquet of flowers, to May. 

“Alright, Sweetheart. Go give these to Mam.” 

The redhead balances the breakfast tray she prepared while May leads them down the corridor to the room where Delia is still asleep. 

The girl climbs onto the bed and pokes the brunette awake. 

“What’s all this?” Delia blinks with a sleepy smile. 

“Do you like the picture I made you, Mam?” 

“I love it, Cariad.” The brunette pulls May close, “It’s beautiful.” 

Patsy sets the breakfast tray down on the unused second bed and kisses the smaller woman’s cheek. 

“Happy Mother’s Day, Darling.” 

“That’s _today_?” Delia sits up with a hint of panic, “I’ve been so busy studying, it completely slipped my mind.” 

“Did you forget to send your mother a card?” Patsy chuckles, not entirely sure why Delia is upset about forgetting the day. 

“Well, yes, there’s that. But I didn’t do anything for you either, or get you a gift,” The brunette says apologetically, “This is your day too.” 

“ _You_ are my gift. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be a mother. I can trace all of my happiness - every good thing in my life - back to the day you first walked into male surgery and made fun of me for the way I was dressing that chap’s incision.” 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Delia laughs at the memory, “It was hilarious, watching you try desperately to avoid touching his chest hair.” 

“Yes, well, no need to relive _that_ detail,” The redhead curls her lip up in revulsion, “Wouldn’t want to put anyone off their breakfast. ” 

“Garbo doesn’t seem put off,” May points at the other bed behind Patsy...where the breakfast tray had been left. 

The redhead turns round in time to watch the dog greedily chew up the last of the scrambled eggs and lick the plate clean. 

She sighs with resignation, “Naturally, this is the one day a year he decides to eat real food instead of an item of my clothing.” 

The following weekend her and Delia are at a community hall, queued up to give their well wishes to a newly married couple. 

The brunette had been invited to the wedding, an old friend of hers from the volunteer ambulance brigade. 

“Oh no, Delia!” The bride exclaims upon seeing Patsy at the brunette’s side, “When I invited you to bring a guest to the wedding I meant a _date_ , not your best friend.” 

“Lovely to see you again as well, Mary.” The redhead remarks dryly. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, Patsy,” The bride says, “But if you don’t stop spending all your time with each other, you two will _never_ get married. You’ve got to hurry up, or all the good men will be taken!” 

“Got to trap ‘em while you can,” The groom jokes, “Still can’t believe I’ve been caught.” 

“Don’t you think you’re lucky, Marcus?” Delia looks at him critically, “Not everyone gets a chance to marry the woman they love.” 

“Why not?” He asks stupidly, “It’s not exactly hard, you just buy a ring and go down to the registrar to get a license.” 

“How nice that it was so easy for _you_.” Delia smiles stiffly. 

“The wedding was easy, it’s living with her forever that’ll be the hard part!” The man guffaws. 

“And I’m stuck with this tosser for the rest of my life,” The bride laughs, as though it’s funny somehow. 

“Goodness! One wonders why you two even bothered!” Patsy gives the bride and groom her best fake upper-middle-class laugh. And she leads Delia away with a whisper- “Fancy taking our leave of this soiree early?” 

The smaller woman raises an eyebrow, “You read my mind.” 

“Let’s rendezvous at our bench in twenty minutes...” 

...Delia is waiting as instructed when Patsy arrives. 

The way the brunette’s hair shines in the moonlight makes her look like a goddess. 

She’s so beautiful that it actually stops Patsy in her tracks for a moment. 

“So...I went by your favourite chip shop,” The redhead holds up her offering, “Who needs manky wedding food anyway.” 

They sit quietly for a time. 

It’s a beautiful evening, unseasonably warm. 

Delia steals a few of Patsy’s chips. 

And the redhead pretends to be peeved about the theft. 

It’s tradition. 

In reality, she specifically gets her chips with extra vinegar because it’s what Delia prefers. 

Patsy doesn’t even like vinegar (yes she knows that’s strange), she just prefers chips plain. 

But she doesn’t buy chips to eat them anymore, really she just has them so that Delia will steal some. 

Before they were officially a couple, back during that excruciating stage where Delia was flirting confidently and Patsy was questioning her own sanity because she couldn’t believe that the brunette was actually interested- 

-They’d gone out, one evening, with a few other girls from The London. 

There was a little jazz club that was popular in Whitechapel in ‘57. 

Early into the evening, Delia told everyone she had a headache. 

And she asked if Patsy would walk her home. 

It was a perfectly normal thing to ask for. None of the girls would have wanted to be walking alone after dark. 

But there were five other people that Delia could have chosen from. 

Or she could have presented it as a general request to the group. 

She didn’t. 

She looked right at Patsy and asked her and only her. 

And it was as if the music at the club had stopped in that moment, because the prospect of getting to be alone with the brunette was making Patsy’s heart pound so hard that it was all she could hear. 

Miraculously, Delia’s headache disappeared once they left. 

“I think the music was just a bit too loud for me,” The brunette had shrugged as an excuse, “Maybe you and I could go somewhere more quiet? I don’t want to go home yet, I’m hungry.” 

They stopped by a little chip shop and sat on a bench. 

Delia talked and laughed about something that had happened earlier that day in training. 

Patsy listened silently, completely love struck and so nervous that she couldn’t eat. 

Then, Delia leaned over and pilfered a few of the un-eaten chips. 

She was so close that Patsy could smell the brunette’s hair. 

Lavender, and something sweet. 

Patsy feigned being peeved about the theft, to cover up how desperately sad she was when Delia returned to her own side of the bench. 

The smaller woman made a teasing remark about how unpalatable the plain chips were. 

And she didn’t steal any more. 

And Patsy hated herself for not having food worthy of drawing the brunette back in. 

And from that evening forward, Patsy began drowning her chips. 

She would have done anything, just to have Delia near for a few more seconds. 

Right now, the brunette is standing up from the bench with a little wobble, and Patsy jumps up to steady her. 

But they both just wind up sort of falling against each other. 

And they giggle together, like schoolgirls, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

_Perhaps it would have been best not to go for that third glass of wine at the wedding._

But weddings always seem to make Delia a bit sad. 

And so Patsy tries to look for ways to cheer her up. 

_An extra glass of wine and a cheeky order of chips won’t hurt anyone._

The brunette steps out of her heels, holding onto Patsy with one hand for stability. 

“Christ, it’s warm,” Delia takes her coat off and hands it to the redhead. 

Patsy drapes it over her own arm obediently. 

The brunette tucks her purse into Patsy’s arms as well, with an appreciative kiss to the redhead’s cheek. 

And Patsy watches as the smaller woman tries to walk along a little kerb surrounding a small plot of earth where a birch tree is planted, nearby their bench, in the otherwise vast sea of cobblestones. 

“This is the third wedding we’ve left early, it’s becoming a habit of ours. Do you remember Alice and John’s wedding?” Delia asks, in reference to a couple they knew back when they worked at The London. 

She’s sort of twirling a bit. 

And Patsy has this sudden urge to go dance with her. 

But the redhead can’t think of what to do with their purses and the coat she’s holding. So she just stands there. 

“They’re divorced now, aren’t they?” She asks. 

“Hmm, they only lasted three years.” 

“How long do you give Mary and Mutton-head?” 

“Three _days_ ,” Delia laughs. “The more ghastly the dress, the less time. I mean, pink organdy accents, really!?” She huffs at the moon, “What is this, _eighteen_ sixty-four?” 

“What would your dress be like?” 

“I- what?” Delia’s voice sort of hitches and she turns to look back at Patsy. 

“Your dress. Your wedding gown. Describe it to me.” 

“It would be...interesting, you know, not something boring like Mary’s. A bit like Princess Margaret’s, but it would be more modern. I’d want a long train and a sweetheart neckline.” 

“What else would you want? What flowers? Where would the ceremony be?” 

“I’d want daisies. And I’d want it in the chapel at Nonnatus, obviously. And I’d want my Dad to walk me down the aisle. And I’d want to dance with you, in front of everyone. And...” 

“And?” Patsy prompts. 

“...And I wouldn’t need any of it if I could call you my wife, even just for a day.” 

Delia has turned away at that point, but the tears in her eyes can be heard by the way her voice trembles. 

And Patsy can’t quite formulate a reply, because her throat tightens with emotion, too much for her to speak. 

Easter is at the very end of the month. 

Patsy has hired an entire petting farm - complete with pony rides - to be set up out front at Nonnatus for the neighborhood children. 

When Delia was young, her father would bring her to a farm near their home in Pembrokeshire, every Easter, to see the newborn lambs and goats and foals. 

For some reason these are very fond memories and Delia wants to pass the tradition down to May. 

Patsy doesn’t really understand. 

She can’t imagine her own parents allowing her to be anywhere near farm animals - let alone encouraging it. 

But she would do anything to make Delia happy. 

And they would both do anything to make May happy. 

The girl seems most fond of the lambs, perhaps because they remind her of her favourite toy. 

Delia had bought the little plush lamb just a day after May came to live with them, and the girl has insisted on taking it everywhere since then. 

The petting farm also has a few goats and ducklings, and one very large floppy-eared rabbit. 

Garbo practices his herding skills on the ducklings, chasing them around until Delia gives him a command to sit still and leave the poor little things alone. 

He obeys and simply goes back to his usual pastime - chewing on Patsy. 

Today he’s chosen the ankle of her favourite denim trousers. 

The redhead sighs and attempts to feed a goat, but it turns away from her. 

All the animals happily flock to Delia like she’s a Disney Princess. 

The brunette teaches May and Angela Turner how to gently pet the mucky things, with instructions to be respectful and leave them be if they don’t seem to want to be touched. 

Perhaps Patsy might have benefited from that lesson more. 

Because she keeps trying to feed the stubborn baby goat - until it kicks her _very hard _and walks away.__

____

She also manages to be bitten by a duckling. 

____

And sneezed on by the rabbit. 

____

Phyllis eventually leads the Cubs by with an Easter parade they’ve organized, which gives Patsy an excuse to step away from the beastly torture. 

____

The redhead picks May up so the girl can have a better view of the proceedings. 

____

But, in spite of the the noisy crowd, May quickly falls asleep with her little head resting on Patsy’s shoulder. 

____

_Because the hard work of being adorable and enjoying endless pony rides really does a girl in._

____

The redhead grins and hums a few bars of Yue Guang Guang, as she sways gently with the girl in her arms. 

____

And Delia watches them with a soft, almost unreadable expression. 

____

“What is it?” Patsy whispers with a curious smile. 

____

“Nothing...just...I’ve never been more in love with you.” 

____

The smaller woman leans against the redhead warmly, but in a subtle enough way that won’t draw attention from people in the crowd. 

____

And Patsy brushes her lips, in a brief kiss, against the crown of Delia’s head. 

____

And, in that moment, Patsy doesn’t even care who might see. 

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it’s June, the month when all lesbian wishes magically come true...any single gals out there looking for a wife? I can do maths and drive and write you CTM stories. Comment or IM me on tumblr @onelasttimeless and we’ll see how we get on.


	6. You're Too Beautiful

**September, 1964**

The summer of ‘64 had been very dry and warm, by British standards. 

Most everyone at Nonnatus actually managed to get a tan this year. 

Not Patsy, obviously.

She did stay out in the sun too long one day in July and turned bright red like a lobster. 

That’s sort of the extent of her tanning capabilities. 

But Delia developed a lovely sun-kissed glow which brings out her freckles.

It makes Patsy’s knees go a bit weak.

Still, she’s managing to stay on her feet this evening, twirling Delia around at Gateways.

“Have I mentioned you look lovely tonight?” The redhead says, “You’re a vision. I’m certain every woman here wants to be me right now.”

“You’re quite fetching yourself,” Delia smiles enchantingly, flashing her dimples. 

Because she knows full well what that does to Patsy. 

And the redhead narrows her eyes playfully, pulling the smaller woman close. 

“You wanton seductress!” Patsy murmurs, “Just you wait till I get you home later.”

The smaller woman laughs and takes another half step closer, so that they’re cheek to cheek. 

“Thank you for taking me dancing. I needed this.”

“You’re happy though, with midwifery?”

“I love it,” The brunette assures, “But it’s nice to have an evening off with you. Between your schedule and mine, we’ve been like ships in the night lately.”

The redhead grimaces when the song changes, “Let’s go have a drink, I can’t dance to this.”

“You do know this song has been number one in the charts for months,” Delia points out, as they find some seats at the bar.

“Youths today have no taste in music,” Patsy complains, “I don’t understand these _Beatles_ at all, what does ‘I want to hold your hair’ even mean? It’s nonsense.”

“I think it’s ‘I want to hold your _hand_ ’,” The smaller woman corrects. 

“...Oh...that doesn’t change the fact that the tempo is all wrong and they sound like they’re singing through a radiator. I’ll take Diana Ross and The Supremes over this rubbish any day.”

“To each their own, I suppose.”

“The Beatles won’t be around very long. They’ll be another one-hit wonder, flash in the pan, just like anything else.”

“That’s what you said about Elvis,” The brunette quips.

And Patsy banters back, “Well I can’t be right about _everything_ , Darling.” 

“Will you order my drink for me?” The smaller woman requests, “I want whatever it was you made that time we played charades with Val and Lucille.”

Initially, Patsy’s existence isn’t even acknowledged by the barmaid. 

But the woman smiles warmly at Delia and puts a hand on top of hers. 

“I was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing you again,” The woman’s gaze rakes over Delia. 

Slowly. 

Lecherously.

Patsy’s eyes widen at the brazenness of it. 

Delia just smiles politely, “We’ve been travelling.”

“Well, I’m very glad to have you back,” The barmaid runs a thumb over the smaller woman’s knuckles.

Patsy clears her throat.

“What do you want, Ginger?” The barmaid sneers.

The redhead purses her lips at the uncreative nickname. 

“A Manhattan, dry, no lemon. And my-” She wants to say _‘my wife’_ but she knows even in here that would raise eyebrows, “-My lady will have a velvet violet martini, that’s two parts crème de violette with-”

“-I know what a martini is,” The barmaid cuts her off, “It’s sort of my job.”

The woman walks off to prepare the drinks. 

Patsy is brimming with outrage and she whispers harshly to Delia-

“-I ought to speak to her supervisor! How dare she touch you like that!” 

“Like what?” The brunette seems utterly oblivious.

“Like she _wants_ you!”

“Don’t be silly, she’s just one of those overly friendly people, I’m sure she’s like that with everyone.”

“She’s not undressing everyone else in here with her eyes!”

“Pats, are you... _jealous_?” Delia teases. 

“No!” The redhead scoffs defensively, “I just- she was being disrespectful.” 

Their conversation pauses as the barmaid walks back over to serve them their drinks. 

She manages to brush her fingertips over Delia’s during the process. 

With a look that clearly says - ‘If Ginger isn’t giving you what you need, you can always come get it from me’.

Patsy glares daggers as the woman walks away again to serve someone else.

“I don’t want you getting her into any trouble with her supervisor,” Delia tells the redhead, “I came here a couple of times when I needed someone to talk to while you were away. She was very kind to me.”

“I’ll _bet_ she was,” Patsy grumbles and downs her drink in one go. 

“Let’s just ignore her and try to have a nice time,” Delia puts a calming hand on Patsy’s knee, “I’m with you, we belong to each other, everyone here knows that.”

The redhead laughs at herself, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to act like some insecure green-eyed monster.”

The brunette smiles and leans in for a kiss.

She seemed to have only intended it to be a little peck. 

But Patsy pulls her back in and turns the kiss into something passionate enough so as to be borderline inappropriate in a public space- 

“-You should get jealous more often,” Delia says delightedly, when Patsy finally lets her go. 

“I’m not jealous,” The redhead maintains, even as she glances at the barmaid to make sure the woman had been watching, “I just find you irresistible.”

“What are we still doing here, then?” The smaller woman asks with a suggestive grin.

“You don’t want to stay and finish your drink?”

“No,” The brunette swirls the liquid around the glass but makes no move to drink any more, “You made it better.” 

A couple hours later, Patsy is kissing her way back up Delia’s body. 

The redhead moves to the side and props herself up on an elbow, gently tracing her fingertips across heated skin as she watches the smaller woman recover.

“Was that alright, Darling?” Patsy asks innocently.

As if she doesn’t know.

As if Delia hadn’t already made the answer to that question abundantly clear, with the way she trembled and gripped a fistful of the bed sheets desperately and whispered Patsy’s name like a prayer. 

The brunette just laughs breathlessly in response.

Patsy lights a self-congratulatory cigarette, well pleased with her own performance.

But Delia takes the cigarette away. 

Grinning like an absolute vixen and gently pushing the redhead to lay back.

“I hope you don’t think you’re done for the evening, My Love.”

The next morning, Patsy watches a bit longingly as everyone rushes around the clinical room, packing their bags up and getting prepared for the day ahead.

Delia is all ready, she’s just getting her orders from Phyllis.

“You go right into your rounds after you’ve taken May to school, no need to come back here.” Phyllis tells the smaller woman, “And is Nurse Mount picking her up, or are you? Because I could use you at the afternoon clinic today.”

“-I can pick May up from school,” Patsy speaks up, “I’m working from home today.”

“Perfect. That’s settled, go on then,” Phyllis shoos Delia on her way.

Patsy follows the smaller woman into the corridor. 

“So, I’ll see you when I get home tonight.” Delia says quietly, she looks over her shoulder to check that they’re alone and then she gives the redhead a quick kiss goodbye, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Patsy whispers back with a goofy lopsided smile. 

Because, even after seven years, this sort of thing can still give her butterflies.

Delia has a unique ability to make even the most mundane things feel all bright and tingly and exciting. 

Nearing the front door, at the bottom of the stairs, the brunette calls to May-

“-Hurry up Cariad, we’re already late.” 

The girl is still up in her room, finishing getting dressed.

She had wanted to tie her own shoelaces today. 

She’s only just learned and she’s very proud of her new skill.

The little thing comes bounding down the stairs with her toy lamb and Garbo - and a small umbrella, a recent Mary Poppins themed addition to her usual entourage.

The girl seems alarmingly convinced that one can actually use umbrellas to fly.

Julie Andrews had arrived at cinemas all over the country recently, as Mary Poppins.

May begged to see it. 

All the other children at school were talking about it.

She simply _had_ to see it.

Like there was any chance she would be denied. 

Patsy is incapable of saying ‘no’ to the girl. 

May is so much like Delia.

They both love the cinema. 

They both find some inexplicable joy in grubby little animals.

They both need a cup of tea with too much milk in before they’ll go to sleep. 

And Patsy’s heart now belongs to not one _but two_ very feisty girls - who both have the redhead wrapped around their little fingers. 

“Say! Mam watch this!” May opens her umbrella and leaps from the fifth-to-last step.

It’s clear from the trajectory that her landing will not be smooth.

And Patsy sort of instinctively lunges forward and opens her arms, just in time to save the girl. 

Delia puts a hand over her heart and lets out a relieved breath.

“Sweetheart, you really mustn't do things like that!” The redhead frets, “What if I hadn’t been there to catch you? You might have been hurt and-”

“You’ll _always_ be there to catch me, Silly!” The girl laughs, “You’re my Mummy!”

Patsy is hit with a sudden wave of sadness then. 

She’d been informed yesterday - May’s adoption will be finalised by the end of the year. 

They don’t know when exactly.

She’d just been told to expect a call. 

Within a day or two of that, someone from the Mother House would be round to collect the girl and bring her to her adoptive family.

“You’re late for school,” Patsy says quietly.

Because she doesn’t know what else to say. 

Because there isn’t time right now to try to explain May’s imminent adoption to her. 

The redhead simply kisses the girl’s cheek and transfers her into Delia’s arms and waves goodbye. 

Later that afternoon, the house is quite empty.

May is at the Turner’s, playing with Angela.

Poor Phyllis had to go to hospital with a bad back - a temporary replacement nurse is being sent from the Mother House but she hasn’t arrived yet.

Meanwhile, it seems all the expectant mothers in Poplar have decided _this_ is their day.

Virtually everybody is out delivering babies.

They had to cancel the afternoon clinic because of the demand. 

Only Nurse Anderson is left, minding the phone at Nonnatus.

_And here they’d all been worried, that midwifery was a dying profession because of the upsurge in hospitals births._

Patsy is in the parlor, watching television with Sister Monica Joan.

Technically, the redhead is supposed to be working on an acquisition proposal for the firm.

But she can’t do that with the television distracting her.

And it would be rude to ask the older woman to turn it off.

And, yes, Patsy knows she could just go up to her room. 

_Why do that when there’s a perfectly good excuse not to have to think about shipbroking right here?_

The phone rings, and Patsy can vaguely hear Nurse Anderson answering it. 

A minute or two later it rings again.

That’s fairly common. 

Nervous patients often call with a list of questions, and then they call right back again with all the questions they forgot to ask the first time. 

Lucille rushes into the parlor, looking a bit harried.

“Nurse Mount, your registration hasn’t lapsed yet, has it? You’re still a qualified midwife?”

“Err, yes.” 

“I need you to go deliver Mrs. Singh’s baby. She and Mrs. Fernandez both just called. I don’t think either of them can wait long...”

...Patsy arrives home a little after four in the morning, exhausted, after a thirteen hour labor.

_Well, not as exhausted as Mrs. Singh._

_But still._

Delia is asleep, which isn’t surprising, considering the hour.

“Delia,” Patsy whispers, and then a little louder, “ _Delia._ ”

The brunette stirs and rolls over to face Patsy.

“Missed you this evening. Welcome home.” The smaller woman murmurs happily. 

Patsy joins the brunette on their lumpy mattress, shifting around a few times to find the best spot.

“I still say we should try switching to the other bed,” Delia suggests, “You can’t be comfortable like that.”

“Tomorrow.” The redhead mumbles with a big smile, “I could sleep soundly on a bed of nails right at the moment.” 

She was already half asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She reaches a hand under the duvet to settle in the soft curve where Delia’s waist meets her hip, thumb stroking softly over the skin where the brunette’s pajama top has ridden up a bit in the night. 

And the smaller woman runs a hand lovingly along Patsy’s arm in response.

“I gather you had an exciting day?” 

“Undiagnosed twins. Two perfectly healthy girls.” 

“Lucky!” Delia huffs, “I’m a bit disappointed that I’ve not had twins yet.”

“What did you get today?”

“A boy. Real brute too, would have sworn he weighed a full stone if I didn’t have a scale.”

“Poor Mrs. Harrison,” Patsy chuckles. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you coming home happy at the end of the day,” Delia plays with the badge pinned to the redhead’s borrowed uniform. 

Patsy’s face falls, “I closed the deal for the merger yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say? That’s brilliant,” Delia smiles supportively, “I’m sure your father would have been proud of you.”

“Yes...I’ve done so well that the firm wants me to go to Tokyo, to oversee an acquisition there.”

The brunette’s smile disappears and she looks down quickly, away, as if she can hide her sadness.

She can’t, even in the low light.

Patsy doesn’t need to see the despair, she can feel it, it’s palpable. 

“How long would it take?” Delia asks quietly.

“Months,” The redhead shrugs, “I don’t know. And I don’t care, because I’m not going. I’ll help hire my replacement, but otherwise I’m done.”

“But your father said he wanted _you_.”

“He also said he hoped I would make better decisions than he did. At the time I thought he meant business decisions. But, I don’t know, now I think he meant something else.”

“What else would he have meant?”

“I think he _knew_ , about us. I had your letter and a photo of you on the table by my bed. I didn’t expect him to come into my room, he was in a wheelchair a lot of the time. But he said a few things one evening that made me wonder if he hadn’t sleuthed about at some point.”

“What sort of things?”

“Well, for one - he said he loved me, no matter what.”

“...That’s hardly a specific indication that he knew about us.”

“Middle class Englishmen don’t tell their children they love them for no reason, Delia. I can count on one hand the number of times he said that to me in my entire life.”

“He was dying, I’d think that’s reason enough.”

“But then he told me that he missed my mother, still. That he wished he had worked less and spent more time with her. That the money was nicer when he had someone to share it with, and that he trusted I would ‘spend it wisely’ - the way he spoke, I got the feeling he knew exactly who I was going to share it with.”

“I’m sorry if what I wrote made things uncomfortable for you-”

“-No, don’t apologise. What you wrote was beautiful, it was the only thing that kept me going some days. Besides, it would have just been confirmation of what I imagine he already suspected. I could never bring myself to fake any interest in boys, growing up.”

“Well, you would know better. But what you’ve told me he said doesn’t necessarily make it seem like he suspected anything at all.”

“It was also the things he didn’t say. He never once asked if I had a chap. He never tried to steer me towards any marriage prospects. He could have tried to set me up with some ambitious barrister or an eligible young partner at his firm, like any normal parent would. Instead, he let me muck about as a common nurse in _East London_ for ten years with nary an objection. Look at your mother, in comparison, always writing to insist you get married.”

“So...your father knew you’re queer and he actually accepted it?” 

“It’s the only way everything makes sense.” 

Delia smiles, “That’s lovely. He sounds like a very interesting man.”

“As for shipbroking, I’m wondering if he just asked me to follow in his footsteps because it was the only legacy he had and he didn’t know how else to say he valued me. He made sure to tell me that he wouldn’t have liked a son any better. I think we- I think there was a mutual respect, at the end.”

Patsy tries to blink away the tears welling in her eyes, but one manages to escape and trickle down her cheek anyway.

Delia wipes it away and leans in to press a feather light kiss there- 

-And the conversation is interrupted by the squeak of their door opening.

“Mam? Mummy?” Mays little voice asks tentatively.

The girl explains that she’s had a night terror about monsters living under her bed.

This has happened a few times. 

And so Patsy sits up to go chase the monsters out from under the bed, which is their routine.

But, since the redhead had a longer day, Delia offers to go instead.

“No.” May says, “Only Mummy can make the monsters go away.”

“Why not me?” Delia seems a bit sad to have been bypassed for this task. 

She’s used to being the first one May asks for - when the girl is upset and cuddles are required, or when bumps and bruises need to be kissed better. 

The girl laughs, “Because you’re not scary enough.” 

“I completely disagree,” Patsy counters, “Mam can be very scary when she wants to be. Frankly, I’m terrified of her.”

Delia gives the redhead’s shoulder a playful shove, “You hush.” 

“You have to be tall like Mummy,” May explains to the brunette, “You’re not big enough to scare monsters.” 

Patsy chuckles at the girl’s logic, “I’m not really that tall, even. I just appear tall because Mam is so short.”

Delia's expression changes to something murderous, “I’m. _Not._ Short.”

“There, you see. Scary.” Patsy whispers to May and tickles the girl’s side, “You just have to know how to bring it out in her.”

May giggles.

And Delia rolls her eyes, “Now that we’ve established how scary I am, does that mean I’m allowed to go get rid of the monsters?”

“No.” The redhead grins, “You might be scary. But you still can’t get rid of monsters.”

“What’s the problem _this time_?” The smaller woman frowns.

“You’re too beautiful. As soon as the monsters get a glimpse, they’ll never want to leave.” Patsy tucks a lock of hair behind the brunette’s ear.

Delia’s expression softens at that. 

“Charmer.” She laughs, almost shyly, as if the complement caught her off guard, and she catches Patsy’s hand to give it a kiss. 

The redhead stands and looks to May, “Do you want to come and make sure I do a proper job?”

“No. I trust you.” The girl states quite seriously.

Patsy tries not to laugh at May’s very businesslike tone.

“Why thank you, Mademoiselle.” The redhead gives a formal curtsy, “I’m honoured that you think so highly of me.”

In the girl’s room, Patsy gets onto her hands and knees and peers into the space under the bed. 

_Just to be safe._

She finds nothing and feels a bit silly.

And she looks back at the doorway to see if anyone happened to catch her doing this. 

It’s just the sort of thing Trixie would never let her live down.

Patience Mount - one month shy of her thirty-first birthday - genuinely checking for monsters under a bed.

_But, one never knows._

At boarding school, two girls complained about ghosts in their room for months, the nuns even whipped them for ‘telling heretical lies’ a few times, but the girls kept insisting there were ghosts. 

And eventually there was a family of squirrels found living in the walls. 

So, just because the most likely scenario here is May being a four-and-a-half-year-old with an active imagination, that doesn’t mean what she says should be summarily dismissed. 

The redhead spends a minute or two tidying up. 

She fluffs May’s pillow and collects a few toys that were strewn about the floor. 

When Patsy feels like she’s spent a sufficient amount of time to give the impression that a thorough monster clearing has been done, she returns to her room to tell May it’s safe for the girl to go back to her bed.

But she finds the little thing snuggled with Delia, and Garbo curled up at their feet.

All three quite deeply asleep.

Patsy lays down with them, on the small sliver of mattress that remains free.

She should probably just go sleep in the second bed.

It would be more practical.

But she wants to hold her family tonight. 

They won’t get many more opportunities like this.


	7. For The Record

**December, 1964**

Delia has volunteered herself and Patsy to be the makers of Nonnatus House’s mince pies this year.

She thought it would be something nice they could do with May. 

It is, Patsy’s not complaining. 

But she isn’t _great_ in the kitchen, especially when it comes to confectionery. 

And she’s just managed to accidentally douse herself head to toe in flour.

“Didn’t know you were thinking about going blonde again, Pats.” Delia bites her lip, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Is it in my _hair?_ ” 

“You look like a snowman, Mummy.” May giggles and grabs a handful of sultanas from the bowls of ingredients on the kitchen table. 

Garbo is circling around underneath the chair the girl is knelt on.

He’s like a fuzzy little shark, waiting for something edible to fall on the floor. 

Patsy has half a mind to deliberately throw him something, if it will keep him away from her shoes for a few minutes. 

“Mummy’s funny isn’t she?” Delia gives May a jolly little tickle. 

Patsy coughs.

“Mummy thinks she just aspirated an entire gristmill,” The redhead grouses, embarrassed, and feeling guilty for wasting food.

May says something in Cantonese that Patsy doesn’t quite catch. 

And Delia laughs and responds to the girl with something equally obscure. 

“Sorry, say that again?” Patsy asks, because she really does want to learn. 

But the girl shakes her head impishly and says something in Welsh this time - which, again, makes Delia laugh. 

“...Oh, I see how it is,” The redhead indulges them and accepts the teasing with an accommodating smile, “You two are ganging up and having a laugh at me because I’m not as clever.”

“We’re laughing _with_ you, not _at_ you.” Delia says in a saccharine tone of voice that indicates the opposite of what she’s saying it true.

“No fibbing in front of our daughter. That’s bad form, Darling.” The redhead manages a bit of repartee in return.

The smaller woman laughs and throws a tea towel in Patsy’s face, “Clean yourself up, I’m not listening to parenting advice from a talking marshmallow.”

May giggles again and leans over and wraps her arms around Patsy’s waist in a cuddly hug. 

And the girl looks up at the redhead with an adorable smile-

“-This is fun, can we do this every Christmas?” 

Later that evening, Patsy can’t sleep. 

She stares up at the ceiling, one hand fidgeting restlessly with the sleeve of Delia’s pajama top. 

“We shouldn’t have sent her to school.” The redhead spouts, without preamble, “Technically- legally- she didn’t have to go till next year.”

The smaller woman sighs, “She wanted to go. The Turners were sending Angela, those two do everything together, May would have felt left out.”

“But we could have kept her home and had more time with her.” 

“A few extra hours during the day wouldn’t have made this any easier.” Delia snuggles closer against Patsy’s side. 

And the redhead wraps her arm a bit tighter around the smaller woman, hoping the comfort of their proximity can ward off the heartache. 

“...I just want it to snow before she has to leave.” Patsy prays quietly, “I promised we’d take her up to Primrose Hill to go sledging, if it snowed enough this year.”

It’s three days to Christmas.

Patsy has not been so excited for the holiday since she was eight years old and her parents took her and her sister to the Singapore Botanical Gardens for a family picnic.

_Christmas dinner alfresco._

They hardly ever did anything together, all four of them, like that. 

And they never would again. 

It’s always been one of Patsy’s few happy holiday memories. 

But now she’s got dozens, no - _hundreds_ \- of wonderful memories made with Delia and their daughter.

And surely, now that they’ve made it this far, May’s adoption won’t happen until after the holidays.

It’s like the banks or the post or something, everything is on hiatus till after Boxing Day, _surely._

Patsy is so excited that she’s not even going to worry about the adoption, she’s just going to forget about it and let herself fully enjoy these next few days. 

She’s especially looking forward to watching May open her presents on Christmas morning.

The girl had asked Father Christmas for either a new set of watercolour paints, or a doll called Sleepy Sally whose eyes close when you lay her down. 

Of course she’s getting both. 

And also a new tea set. 

And a kite. 

And a model airplane.

And- _well, there’s a lot, let’s just put it that way._

But the pièce de résistance is Sleepy Sally, the toy every little girl in Britain wants this year.

Patsy waited in a queue outside a toy shop with other parents for over six hours to get that doll. 

In a thunderstorm.

A lot of the parents left because of the weather. 

_Weaklings._

Once you’ve ridden a bicycle with bald tyres over wet cobblestones in the dark while being pelted with freezing rain and gale force winds - the average person’s concept of bad weather loses all meaning.

To make things even more adorable this year, May is set to play an angel in Poplar’s Christmas pantomime.

Which Delia and Patsy think is a very fitting role.

They say as much, while they put the finishing touches on the girl’s costume in the parlor. 

It’s a quiet evening, most of the house is there, reading or watching television or doing needlework. 

Or, in Patsy’s case, affixing cotton wool to a pair of tiny angel wings.

_As one does._

The phone rings and Nurse Dyer jumps up to answer it, being first on call. 

May wriggles and fidgets as Delia tries to pin up her costume. 

The girl seems a bit nervous about performing.

She could have played an angel last year, but Patsy didn’t want the little thing to feel too overwhelmed as she’d only just come to live with them and was still dealing with the transition from the Mother House.

Now the redhead is wondering if she shouldn’t have declined on the girl’s behalf again this year.

“You don’t have to be in the show if you don’t want to, Sweetheart.”

“I want to,” May falters a bit, “...I think.”

“You’re very brave,” Delia tells the girl, “I had a bit of stage fright when I was your age in my Christmas panto.”

“You, Deels? Stage fright?” Patsy is surprised to hear that, “I would have thought you’d be quite a natural in the spotlight.”

“Well, I was, three years in a row. But I didn’t know how much fun it would be till I did it the first time,” The brunette explains for May’s benefit as she fixes the girl’s halo, “I was an angel too.”

May smiles, she seems a bit buoyed to know that she’s at least in good company. 

“It’s not really acting for either of you, that’s just your natural states - two perfect little angels.” Patsy observes, “Perhaps everybody gets cast in the role they’re meant to play, it’s fate.”

Trixie laughs, from her position on the sofa.

“Patsy. _You_ always played the donkey,” The blonde points out.

Everyone in the room has a good chuckle.

Including May.

The redhead rolls her eyes and throws a handful of cotton wool at her old roommate. 

_What, is this Take The Piss Out Of Patsy Week?_

It’s just a bit of good-natured teasing, and the humour seems to have alleviated a lot of the tension May had been feeling. 

So the redhead tries not to take it too personally. 

Valerie returns and flops down onto the sofa, “Phone for you, Mount.” 

Delia leaves May to watch television with everyone, and the smaller woman follows the redhead into the empty corridor. 

“For the record,” The brunette stands on her toes and kisses Patsy softly, “I think donkeys are lovely, just as good as angels.”

And if Patsy had been feeling a bit stung by having everyone laugh at her expense, she gets over that very quickly. 

She leans in again, and pulls Delia closer, deepening the kiss.

“Mmm-phone,” The brunette laughs, “You’ve got a call waiting. Can’t tie up the line too long.”

It’s undoubtedly Miss Nishimura - the young woman that Patsy had hired to take her place at the brokerage firm. 

The redhead had agreed to stay on till the end of the year, as a mentor. 

She likes Miss Nishimura, the young woman is very keen to do the job properly. 

But that means she’s been calling non-stop for advice. 

Even though Patsy has already explained what little she knew about shipbroking herself.

The redhead steals one last kiss from Delia and picks up the phone-

“-Miss Nishimura, really, I have to ask that you please try not to call Nonnatus unless you need a midwife. If you like, we can arrange one more meeting to discuss things next week but I’m going to spend Christmas with my famil-”

-It’s not Miss Nishimura at the other end.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Patsy watches numbly as Delia packs May’s little suitcase. 

With her little shoes and her little dresses and her little lamb nestled on top of it all.

Delia is doing a good job of smiling and being cheerful.

But, after all these years, Patsy knows her well enough to see that she’s barely keeping it together.

They agreed - no tears.

Because this is a sad day for them.

But a happy one for May.

She’ll finally be going to live with her permanent family.

“Will you tell me the dragon story, when I get home?” May asks, as Delia buttons up the girl’s coat.

Despite the fact that they’ve tried to explain what adoption is, May hasn’t seemed to fully grasp that she’s never coming back to Nonnatus.

“There’s nothing in the world I would rather do,” Delia tells the girl, “But I’m sure your new Mummy and Daddy will tell you loads of lovely stories.”

“I don’t want a Mummy and Daddy,” May frowns, “I don’t like daddies.”

“Why not, Cariad?” 

The girl wrinkles her nose, “They don’t smell as nice as mummies.”

Patsy almost snorts with laughter at that, despite how sad she is.

She can’t disagree with May’s opinion.

“I’m certain you’ll like your Daddy,” Delia tries to reassure the girl.

“No,” May says again, shaking her head so emphatically that her whole body twists back and forth, “I only like my Mam and Mummy.”

Delia looks to Patsy and lets out a shaky breath.

And Patsy can see the tears welling in the brunette’s eyes. 

She’s about to fall apart.

So the redhead quickly swings May up into her arms and tickles the girl to distract her, while Delia takes a moment to collect herself. 

Because Patsy has nearly perfected the art of pretending everything is alright when it’s not. 

It’s the one thing she’s better at than Delia.

May squeals and squirms and laughs merrily in Patsy’s arms.

“Say! Want to play Pilot and Co-Pilot?” The redhead asks, in reference to a game where Patsy runs about the house, holding May above her head to simulate flying.

“Yeah!” The girl says exuberantly. 

They’ve almost completed their lap around Nonnatus when the doorbell rings. 

Sister Winifred has arrived from the Mother House to bring May to her adoptive parents. 

“Alright, Little One,” Patsy reluctantly sets the girl down, “Mind Sister Winifred.” 

Delia fusses with May’s hair and fixes the collar of the girl’s coat and checks that the girl’s shoelaces are tied - and checks again.

It’s clear the brunette is just stalling now. 

And when Sister Winifred takes May’s hand to lead her away, Delia stops them desperately.

“Wait- just- don’t drive too fast, she gets carsick. And she doesn’t like juice, she’ll only have milk. And she needs her lamb to fall asleep. And-”

“-She’ll be fine,” Sister Winifred smiles, “Her parents will learn everything, I’m sure.” 

_Her parents._

Delia steps back as though she’s been struck.

But she nods, accepting the reality of the situation.

Garbo seems to sense her distress because he whimpers and tries to go after May.

He growls at Sister Winifred when she awkwardly tells him to ‘sit’ and ‘stay’. 

Patsy has to hold him by the collar for a moment to keep him from running outside.

While Delia gives May one last hug.

“Goodbye, Cariad.” The brunette says softly. 

“Bye,” The girl wraps her little arms around Delia, “See you when I get home, I love you!”

Then the front door closes.

And May is gone.

And Delia turns and hides her face against Patsy and soaks the shoulder of the redhead’s shirt with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't @ me. May will be back in the next chapter.


	8. Wish You'd Mentioned It

Patsy isn’t in any sort of holiday spirit.

There’s just this dull, hollow ache in her chest that won’t go away.

She'd really like to go bleach something.

_The kitchen could do with it._

Delia has been weeping intermittently throughout the day. 

Patsy hasn’t wept. 

Yet.

The thing is, she needs a certain amount of privacy to cry like that. 

She needs to be alone. Or she needs to be with only Delia.

But everyone in Poplar adored May and they’ve been stopping by, in an unending stream, to say how sorry they are to see the girl go.

Patsy has seen people lose children in various ways. 

As a midwife, it comes with the territory.

And she’s certainly lost her fair share of loved ones. 

But she’s never experienced pain like this. 

The only thing comparable was what she felt after Delia’s injury. 

Still, it wasn’t as bad, because the redhead could hold on to some hope that Delia would recover and they would be reunited.

It’s strange, Patsy almost feels like they don’t have a right to be sad. 

It’s not as though May was ever really theirs. She was always going to be adopted by another family.

And they only knew her for a short time. 

But then, Patsy has delivered babies for mothers who spent precisely _zero_ time with their child and were still distraught after having to give the baby away to adoptive parents.

And she would never presume to think those women didn’t have a right to mourn that loss.

What’s the difference? 

Her and Delia couldn’t have loved May any more, even if one of them had carried the girl.

And then, not for the first time, Patsy’s thoughts turn to May’s birth mother - with a fresh understanding of what she must have gone through when giving the girl up in the first place. 

“Darling, I think you should come downstairs.” The redhead says gently. 

She sits on the edge of their bed where Delia is curled up with the Sleepy Sally doll that they never got to give May for Christsmas. 

They had offered to send all the presents along, for May’s new parents to give to her. 

But the family hadn’t wanted anything. 

“Can you make up an excuse for me, Pats? Just tell everyone I’m ill or something?” The brunette sniffles.

Patsy strokes Delia’s hair to offer some comfort, “I will, if that’s what you want. But your parents are here...”

The smaller woman groans, “I wrote and invited them. I felt bad that I didn’t invite them last Christmas.”

“I wish you’d mentioned it,” The redhead tries for a bit of humour, “I would have worn something clownishly feminine and expensive just to rile your mother up, like I normally do. Now she’s seen me in trainers!”

That gets a small smile from Delia, “I’m sorry, I forgot they were coming.”

“Perhaps they’ll understand that you’re not in the mood to come down, with May leaving.”

“They don’t even know May exists. I never told them about her.”

Patsy is deeply surprised to hear that, “I would have thought you had.”

“I wanted to tell them. But anytime I wrote about you in the past, the letter would go unanswered. And I didn’t know how to write about May without including you. She was _ours._ ”

Everyone has barely sat down to dinner, when Mrs. Busby fixes her daughter with a stern look across the table.

“You might have written sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” Delia says listlessly, “I’ve been busy.” 

“How long will you continue gallivanting around the world?” Mrs. Busby questions disapprovingly, “Don’t you think it’s time you came home and settled down? You know, the butcher’s boy, Jack Owens - he still asks about you.”

Delia grits her teeth, “Mam. For the millionth time. I’m not going to marry Jack Owens.”

The brunette’s father immediately finds something very interesting to look at amongst the parsnips on his plate. 

He is, undoubtedly, a veteran observer of these standoffs between his wife and daughter.

Patsy gives Delia’s hand a supportive squeeze under the table. 

And Mrs. Busby shakes her head, “I don’t know why you always have to be so stubborn. I only want the best for you.” 

Trixie jumps in sociably, to try to salvage the conversation, “Aren’t you proud of Delia, for the progress she’s made in her career, Mrs. Busby?”

“Yes,” Phyllis joins the rescue attempt, “She makes a fine midwife.” 

“I would prefer that my daughter simply make a _wife_ ,” Mrs. Busby says, “She wouldn’t need a career if she had a husband.”

“Sorry?” Patsy raises her eyebrows, “Just a moment ago, I thought you said you want the best for Delia.”

“That’s what I said,” Mrs. Busby confirms.

“How is it ‘best’ for her to give up a job she loves? Your daughter is brilliant and talented and she wants to dedicate her life to helping people, but you’d rather force her to darn some chaps socks!?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Mrs. Busby argues, “You’re the one who put this ridiculous idea into her head. Only the dregs, like you - who couldn’t make it in hospital - end up delivering babies. It’s such unpleasant work.”

Sister Julienne clears her throat, “We pride ourselves on having the finest nurses here at Nonnatus.”

“Well, not all of your nurses are fine people, are they?” Mrs. Busby says with a snide glance at Patsy.

And the redhead would really just love to have it out with her, once and for all. 

But this isn’t the time or place.

Patsy keeps her head down and takes the abuse, because she doesn’t want to embarrass Delia in front of everyone.

“I believe _all_ our nurses are of the highest caliber,” Sister Julienne tells Mrs. Busby firmly.

“Especially Nurse Mount, she’s always been a consummate professional.” Phyllis adds, narrowing her eyes at Delia’s mother.

“She’s an excellent friend, as well,” Trixie gives Mrs. Busby a steely look of her own, “The best one I’ve ever had, actually.”

“She’s a lovely girl,” Sister Monica Joan adds cheerfully, perhaps not fully understanding exactly what’s happening, “She always lets me have her portion, when lemon trifle is served!” 

Patsy gives Sister Monica Joan a grateful smile.

The redhead is honoured that she has so many friends willing to defend her.

It puts her in a slightly more charitable state of mind, so she makes an attempt to diffuse the tension in the room.

“Look, Mrs. Busby, it’s Christmas. For Delia’s sake, why don’t we just try to-” 

“-I want grandchildren!” The brunette’s mother finally blurts out.

As though she just couldn't contain it any longer.

And that’s when Delia bursts into a fresh wave of tears and stands up so quickly that her chair nearly topples over backwards. 

She dashes out of the room and up the stairs.

Patsy closes her eyes wearily for a long moment and then looks at the brunette’s mother with frustration. 

“How do you manage to be so cruel and so witless at the same time?” 

“I know you must think me a very unsophisticated woman,” Mrs. Busby sighs. “But I’m not, really. I understand that people like you have... _different proclivities_. I would be perfectly willing to tolerate your lifestyle Patience. I just don’t understand why you feel the need to corrupt an innocent, naive girl-”

“I’m in love with her!” Patsy stands up, indignant. “It’s not corrupt, it’s the purest thing I’ve ever felt!”

And then her heart stops.

Because everyone is looking at her.

And she suddenly realises what she’s just admitted to...in front of four nuns.

Phyllis gives her a little nod of encouragement.

And Trixie happily mutters, _“Finally!”_ under her breath.

Sister Frances is staring wide-eyed between Patsy and Mrs. Busby.

Sister Hilda actually starts praying quietly, of all things.

Sister Julienne is trying to sooth Sister Monica Joan, who appears very troubled - but that could just be because this confrontation is occurring at a point in the meal _before_ everyone’s had their puddings.

Nurse Anderson is watching the events with an interested but otherwise indecipherable expression.

Meanwhile, Nurse Dyer is watching Nurse Anderson intently - clearly Lucille’s reaction to this little ‘coming out party’ is of the utmost importance to Valerie. 

And Mr. Busby still hasn’t looked up from his parsnips.

His wife glares at Patsy, “Don’t you shout at me! You colossal English tart!” 

“I’ll stop shouting when you stop hurting your daughter!”

“You’re the one who's hurting her! No one will marry her now, you’ve stolen her virtue!”

“If you’re so desperate for her to be a wife, then let her be mine. _Please_.” Patsy isn’t above begging here. “I worship her. She’ll want for nothing with me.”

“You can’t give her children! You can’t-”

“-ENOUGH!” Sister Monica Joan bangs her hands on the tabletop and looks imploringly at Sister Julienne, “Make her stop.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you left, Mrs. Busby,” Sister Julienne says, with a harshness in her voice that Patsy has never heard before.

“And you call yourself a woman of god!” Delia’s mother huffs, “Here you’ve been, allowing Patience to do _lord only knows what_ to my daughter, in the very shadow of the cross!”

“I do not believe the God I serve would forsake your daughter simply because of who she loves,” Sister Julienne asserts calmly, “The question is - _will you_?”

“I don’t have to stay here and listen to this madness,” Mrs. Busby tugs at the lapel of her husband’s suit to get him up from the table, “Come along, we’re going home.”

But he doesn’t budge.

“No.”

She looks at him with astonishment, “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

“I came here to spend Christmas with my little girl,” He says quietly, “So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“She’s not your little girl anymore, she’s been taken from us by this foul city.”

“Oh come off it!” Mr. Busby finally raises his voice, “No one’s keeping her from us. It’s you that’s driving her away. If you don’t stop, I’m worried we’ll lose her for good.”

“What do you suggest? Shall I let her ruin her reputation with this giant ginger monstrosity?” Mrs. Busby gestures at Patsy. “What will the neighbors think!?”

“I don’t care about the neighbors. I only want my daughter to be with someone who makes her happy.”

“Jack Owens might still marry-”

“-Owens likes a drink. And then he likes a fight. I’ve seen him down the pub enough. I don’t want that animal anywhere near Delia.” 

That information seems to gives the brunette’s mother pause, “...I didn’t know...”

Mr. Busby looks decidedly to Patsy, “If you want my daughter’s hand - you’ve got my blessing.”

The redhead is rather struck dumb by that. 

She opens her mouth several times, to try to say something.

But she only manages to gape at him like a fish for several moments.

And then the doorbell rings.

_Because this dinner wasn’t chaotic enough._

Sister Frances disappears for a moment to answer the door, and returns with Mother Mildred.

“Mother,” Sister Julienne stands up respectfully, “We weren’t expecting you here this evening.”

“I wasn’t expecting myself here this evening,” The older woman chuckles, “There’s been a change of plans and I need to speak to Miss Mount.”

“...Me?” Patsy asks awkwardly.

“Yes, Dear. And where is your lovely secretary?”

“Oh, erm...she’s not feeling well this evening.”

“Well, you tell her I do hope she feels better soon. She’s such a nice girl, and so diligent with her work, the way she’s always by your side. Very dedicated to you, even now. How do you manage, having to share her with her midwifery duties?”

“Delia was born for this job, she’s the greatest nurse London will ever have,” Patsy answers, impassioned, “I wouldn’t dream of holding her back.” 

Mother Mildred regards the redhead with some curiosity, “What a unique sort of professional relationship you two have-” 

“-Won’t you join us for dinner, Mother?” Sister Julienne steers the conversation to something neutral.

“I’ll set a place,” Sister Frances offers.

“Oh no, no. I can’t stay long. I have matters to attend to elsewhere in the city...” The older nun declines, even as she eyes an arrangement of gingerbread biscuits on the table, “Well, perhaps just a little taste. I was visiting Waulden House, you see, and received a most unfortunate call from our very own Sister Winifred-“

“-Is May alright?” Patsy can’t help but interrupt urgently.

“The girl is doing perfectly well,” Mother Mildred assures, as everyone sits back down at the table, “But I’m afraid her adoption has fallen through completely.”

“Oh no,” Patsy is genuinely disappointed, she wanted so much for May to be happy with her new family, “What went wrong?”

“Well, I don’t want to get into the ugly details, but I’m under the impression that an acrimonious divorce is imminent. The prospective parents decided, at the eleventh hour, that it was best not to bring a vulnerable little girl into such a tumultuous affair.”

“What will happen to her?” The redhead asks.

“Ah, _that_ is why I’m here. I don’t think any of us want May to be alone for Christmas. I was hoping you might consider fostering her again, just for a short time.”

“Of course I would!” Patsy sits forward keenly, “For however long she needs.”

She would have jumped to her feet with pure joy at the very suggestion.

But she forced herself not to. 

Because she wants to appear as mature and respectable as possible - fit to be a foster parent.

“Why not make it a permanent arrangement?” Sister Julienne looks to Mother Mildred. 

“Adoption?” Mother Mildred appears as though this is the first time she’s considered the idea, “No, I don’t think so. Children usually do better with two parents. The more caring adults in their life the better.”

“Then Nurse Mount is the perfect choice,” Sister Julienne points out, “May will have more than one mother, if you will. Indeed, the girl will have everyone here at Nonnatus to look after her.”

Mother Mildred frowns thoughtfully for a long moment, “When you put it that way, perhaps it is the right choice.”

“You mean...you’ll let me adopt her?” Patsy is so giddy, she’s almost lightheaded, not quite believing that this is really happening.

Delia’s mother looks thoroughly astounded that the redhead would be sought after for such a thing.

“You want _Patience_ to adopt a child!?” Mrs. Busby asks incredulously. 

“Yes. Now that I’ve had a moment to consider it, I can’t think of anyone better,” Mother Mildred states, reaching for another biscuit, “She’s been an exemplary foster mother to our little May.”

Lucille agrees, “Nurse Mount has made a clear effort to help May maintain her cultural identity in the absence of Chinese parents.” 

“The girl is thriving, no doubt about that.” Phyllis chimes in.

“Patience? Patience _Mount_?” Mrs. Busby looks around the room as if to verify that they’re all talking about the same person.

And Patsy can’t help but give her would-be mother-in-law a deeply smug grin. 

_That’s right._

_Me._

“Well, I best be off.” Mother Mildred gets up from the table, “Someone will deliver the adoption papers to you in the next week or so. But I shall have Sister Winifred bring May round tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, would it be alright if I went to get her?” The redhead requests.

“I don’t see why not,” Mother Mildred assents, “I’ll write the address down for you before I leave.”

By the time the address is on paper, Nurse Crane has already retrieved the keys to her car, and she throws them to Patsy. 

“I’ll let Delia know where you’ve gone,” Phyllis says.

“You want to go get May _tonight_?” Mother Mildred looks at Patsy with surprise, “It’s late and it’s a long drive, you know. No harm in waiting till morning.”

The redhead almost laughs at the absurdity of that idea.

“I’d drive all night if I had to,” And she nearly trips over herself in her haste to get to the door.

She doesn’t actually have to drive all night. 

Because the address that Mother Mildred had written down is only about an hour away.

Also, because the car stalls just around the corner from Nonnatus.

She leaves it parked there and runs into a cafe to call a taxi instead.

So, literally speaking, she hardly has to _drive_ at all. 

When Patsy arrives home with May, before they’re even out of the cab, the front door of the house is opening and Delia is racing down the steps. 

“Mam!” The girl says happily and takes a running leap into the brunette’s arms. 

Delia cradles May close and kisses her head, “Oh my baby, I’ve missed you so much!” 

“You don’t have to cry, Mam.” The girl says matter-of-factly, “I was only gone for the day, really.”

The brunette laughs through her tears and hugs the girl tighter.

Garbo is going mad, running around them in circles and barking joyously.

And it's starting to snow.

And, for some reason, _that_ is when Patsy finally weeps. 

In front of everyone. 

Because the whole house has come out onto the front steps of Nonnatus to watch the reunion. 

With May balanced on her hip, Delia walks over to the redhead.

The smaller woman reaches a hand out to cup Patsy’s cheek and wipe a few of her tears away.

And Patsy can’t wait.

She doesn’t care that Mr. and Mrs. Busby are watching.

She doesn’t care if it’s inappropriate to do this in front of nuns.

She pulls the smaller woman in, for a profoundly emotional kiss. 

All the pent up sorrow from earlier, mixing with the elation of watching Delia reunited with their daughter-

-Who giggles at them. 

And tells them they’re both being ‘very silly’.

Patsy grins at the teasing and breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against Delia’s affectionately.

“I suppose I might have underestimated you, Patience.” Mrs. Busby concedes quietly, appearing at the redhead’s side.

Patsy takes a respectable step back from the older woman’s daughter, because she doesn’t want to push her luck.

Whatever peace might be agreed upon here is tenuous at best.

“Let’s not be enemies,” The redhead pleads.

“I’m willing to call a truce.”

“Thank you, I’m so happ-”

“-I’m not doing it for _you_ ,” The older woman turns her chin up, “...But I love my daughter. I would do anything for her.” 

The redhead nods, accepting the terms, “Then we have at least one thing in common.”

“Now that’s settled,” Mrs. Busby looks to Delia and May, “I’d like to meet my granddaughter.” 

Delia introduces the girl to her grandparents.

And Patsy stands off to the side, watching them with a soft smile. 

“This is very heartwarming and all,” Nurse Crane approaches the redhead, “But where is my car?”

“Your _death trap_ gave up the ghost on Willis Street,” Patsy pulls the keys from her pocket and hands them over.

Nurse Crane accepts the return of the keys and stands with Patsy, watching the Busby family fawn over May.

“You did well today, Kid.” Phyllis says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank yo-”

“-Other than what you did to my car.”

“What _I_ did? That thing has been begging to be put down for years!” 

Phyllis seems affronted, “It was a perfectly viable machine when I loaned it to you,” And she turns to go along with everyone else, who’ve slowly started to make their way back inside.

Patsy rolls her eyes and follows, “I’m buying you a new car, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Don’t you dare. The rubbish they manufacture these days could never compare to my car.”

“I won’t have you giving Delia rides home in that thing anymore, it’s unsafe.” The redhead bickers back.

She can hear Delia up ahead, trying to talk her mother into voting Labour.

_Oh sweet lord. Not this argument again._

Every year, Christmas at Nonnatus seems to get more mad. And messy. And loud...

And colourful. 

And warm.

And loving.

And _perfect_.

And Patsy feels very fortunate that, on a whim, through sheer dumb luck, she stumbled across this shabby paradise six years ago.


	9. Leave Them On

**February, 1965**

Patsy had spent all of January catching up with the revalidation requirements for her nursing registration. 

Today is her first day returning to midwifery, in an official capacity. 

“It’s such a blessing to have you back,” Sister Julienne warmly beckons the redhead into the clinical room.

“Yes, thank goodness,” Trixie says dramatically. “I need you to take on some of my patients. I’ve got a few women who you delivered babies for in the past, and now that they’ve heard you’re coming back - they won’t have anyone but you.” The blonde pouts, “It’s a blow to my self esteem, really. I’m an equally good nurse!” 

“Of course you are,” Patsy agrees sincerely.

Trixie fills the redhead’s arms with a stack of patient files so large that she struggles to see over the top.

“...I thought you said _‘a few’_ patients.” 

“I was estimating. Roughly.” The blonde says airily and turns to discuss something with Sister Julienne.

“Mount, cover for me tonight?” Nurse Dyer pulls the redhead aside for a bit of privacy. “I’m supposed to be on call, but I have a date.”

“Oh...with Nurse Anderson?” Patsy asks quietly. 

Valerie doesn’t respond verbally, but the way she ducks her head and tries not to smile answers the question adequately enough-

“-Alright,“ Nurse Crane’s voice cuts through the room, “Who forgot to empty the autoclave yesterday? How many times do I have to-”

-Then there’s a momentary pause in everyone’s chattering when the phone rings-

“-That’s me, then. I’m first on call,” Delia goes to answer it.

The rest of the girls return to rushing about, packing up their bags. 

And Patsy almost laughs. 

Because she’s only been back five minutes.

And this job is already even more mad than she remembers it being.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The best thing about today - is that the call Delia answers happens to be from a former patient of Patsy’s who requests her again. 

Which means that Patsy gets to work with Delia _all day!_

It’s so much fun that the redhead just sort of bounces about excitedly for hours.

They’re back at Nonnatus now, taking down some notes for the patient’s file.

Delia smiles fondly and reaches out to hold Patsy’s hand, to calm her and help her stop fidgeting. 

“How many doses per day?” The brunette asks as she fills out the papers.

Patsy blinks and squints and holds a prescription form at arm’s length-

“-Erm, two.”

The smaller woman pauses and regards the redhead for a moment, “Maybe it’s time we look into reading glasses for you.”

“I don’t need glasses, Delia. I’m not _seventy._ ”

“My dad's eyes started going around your age, he used to get headaches from squinting so much. I think glasses really improved his life, he seemed much happier.”

“Yes, well, your father didn’t spend thirty minutes perfecting his eyeliner every morning. I’m not covering up all my hard work with a frumpy pair of specs.”

“Shame,” The brunette shrugs casually and turns back to her notes, “I think glasses look very refined. I’d really fancy you in some.”

...

“...I...perhaps...I was squinting a bit,” Patsy scratches at the back of her neck awkwardly. “Would you fancy me _more_ with glasses or just the same as usual. I mean, should I have been wearing glasses for the past decade, or…?”

“You’re too easy,” Delia smirks and cups Patsy’s chin, holding her steady for a brief kiss. “I’ll call and book you an eye test.”

The smaller woman disappears from the clinical room then.

“Hang on,” The redhead calls after her. “Would you actually fancy me in glasses, or did you just say that as part of some reverse psychology maneuver, to trick me into wearing them?”

Delia doesn’t respond and Patsy can hear the brunette on the phone already. 

_Well, you can book all the tests you want, Darling. But I’m not wearing anything unless I get positive confirmation I’m fanciable in it._

This month marks the Chinese New Year. 

It’s not as exciting here as Patsy remembers it being in the various Asian countries she’s lived. 

But they put on a halfway decent show in Limehouse, which has a large population of East Asian immigrants and is only a few streets over from Poplar.

There’s fireworks and some of the residents even organise a lion dance.

Patsy and Delia took May to see it last year, and they had every intention of doing so this year as well. 

Except that Fred came by earlier in the day, with an armful of ‘authentic’ Chinese fireworks for everyone at Nonnatus to have their own show this year. 

And, really, Patsy should have known better than to think this was a good idea.

She realises that now, as she drops the firecracker she’s been trying to light and hurriedly shrugs out her coat.

The garment crumples to the ground, and she tries to put out the flames spreading on the sleeve, with the sole of her shoe-

-While simultaneously trying to kick away the live firecracker that’s randomly spitting sparks from both ends and skittering about the street in all different directions.

Garbo growls and barks at it, as if it’s one of the neighborhood cats he finds so offensive.

May claps delightedly.

Apparently she thinks this is part of the show now.

The girl tries to join in and stomp on the flames with her own little foot. 

Fortunately Delia is quick enough to whisk May off the ground and carry her away from the action.

“I want to play too!” The girl protests and pouts petulantly.

“It’s dangerous Cariad, we need to let Mummy do it.”

When the fires have been dealt with, Patsy allows herself to look at her wrist, at the burn there. 

_Doesn’t seem too bad._

She touches it curiously and hisses at the pain.

“Let me see,” Delia gestures for the redhead to hold her wrist out.

“No, it’s fine,” Patsy clutches it to her chest and twists away.

“It’s adorable that you think this is a negotiation. _Let me see,_ ” Delia orders. 

Patsy hesitantly offers over her wrist to be examined. 

“I hope you didn’t pay much for those fireworks, Fred.” Trixie remarks dryly, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

Violet shakes her head, “I told him not to buy them.”

“The lad who sold them to me seemed very reputable,” Fred appears baffled as to what’s gone wrong and turns to Patsy, “Maybe you’ve just forgotten how to light them?”

“I’ve not forgotten how to light them,” The redhead rolls her eyes, “These are faulty. They’re supposed to let off in stages, not just explode in your hand like a grenade.” 

“Right,” Delia finishes her examination of Patsy’s wrist, “Go inside, we need to put antiseptic and a plaster on that.”

“I don’t want antiseptic, it stings.” The redhead pouts and drags her feet. 

She’s still pouting, back outside, later that night.

She pokes at her wrist through the plaster and waits for Garbo to find a suitable lamp post on which to mark his territory.

She looks up at the lighted windows of Nonnatus.

Delia is inside trying to get May to go to bed.

The girl had been read a story. 

And Patsy sang a lullaby.

But May was unusually fussy and wanted another story.

So, the redhead had offered to go take Garbo outside one last time for the evening, while Delia dealt with the brewing temper tantrum.

“Your daughter is _still_ moping about like a grumbly little troll. All because I didn’t let her burn her fingers off. Well, pardon me.” The brunette sighs when she meets Patsy at the front door, “She wants you to come sing to her again.”

The redhead follows with Garbo as Delia leads them upstairs.

“Why is she _your_ daughter when she’s being clever and adorable. But she’s _my_ daughter when she’s a moping troll?” Patsy’s still-present pout from earlier deepens.

The smaller woman laughs and turns around with an expression as if to say ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ 

“Jesus, between the two of you, I don’t know which one has given me the more pitiful looks today.”

Patsy sings Yue Guang Guang three times but May is still wide awake, so the redhead prepares to just go through the song again and-

“-Can I have a baby sister?” The girl asks, out of the blue.

And Patsy sort of chokes on the song. 

At a loss as to how to answer, she looks to Delia.

“Why are you asking about that?” The brunette questions calmly.

“Angela’s Mummy and Daddy gave her a baby brother.” The girl giggles, “And when you poke his tummy, he laughs. I want one.” 

“Babies aren’t dolls, you know,” Delia cautions and strokes the girl’s hair, “You have to be very gentle with Teddy, he’s a person with feelings just like you.”

“I know. Angela and I are always nice to him.”

“Good, well then, you’ve already got a baby to play with, haven’t you.” Patsy points out logically.

“Yes, but Lily Wilson has a baby _sister,_ and she says the girl ones are better.”

_Fair enough. That’s true._

Delia laughs, “Cariad, babies are a bit hard to come by - we can’t just buy you one at a shop.”

“Make one. Lily Wilson said her parents told her: ‘when two people love each other _very much_ they can make a baby’. You and Mummy love each other more than anybody ever!” May says excitedly, “Surely that means I’ll have the best little sister in the whole world!” 

“Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, hmm?” Delia negotiates, “It’s time for you to go to sleep now.”

Back in their own bedroom, Patsy searches for her cigarettes.

They seem to be ‘mysteriously’ disappearing a lot lately. 

She’s beginning to suspect that Delia has taken to hiding them.

_Or just throwing them right in the rubbish bin._

“You got us out of there just in time, Darling.” The redhead laughs, “That girl does have the most radical ideas.”

“I don’t think it’s so radical.” The smaller woman says quietly. 

“What, that you and I are going to magically have a baby?”

“Well, no, obviously, not that part. But we could adopt again.”

“I really don’t think we should be letting our five year old dictate to us like that.”

“I’m not. It’s something I’ve thought about before. Being an only child is really lonely, I always wanted a sibling growing up. I think it would be good for May. And it’s not like we can’t afford it or we don’t have plenty of love to give another child.”

“Goodness,” The redhead takes a breath, “Alright. We can discuss it with Mother Mildred. But, one thing at a time - I plan to make you an honest woman first.”

She digs under their pillow for the item she’d cached there earlier - a gift, wrapped in red paper - and hands it over with a 'Happy Lunar New Year, Darling'. 

The brunette smiles, “What is this?” 

It’s an ordinary bridal magazine, the sort of thing you can buy off a rack at any old shop.

To most, it would seem like a rather silly and unremarkable gift.

But Delia’s eyes fill with tears when she opens it. 

And Patsy pulls the smaller woman close and kisses her cheek tenderly.

“I’ve spoken with Sister Julienne about the chapel. And I’ve spoken with your father about walking you down the aisle,” The redhead explains, “All you really need to do now is choose your dress...”

Delia seems as thought she would happily spend the rest of the night perusing the magazine. 

And Patsy assumes they’re going to cuddle up and go through it together, but when she reaches for her reading glasses on the dressing table - the brunette flips the pages closed. 

“What if I find the one I want in here? You can’t see, it’s bad luck!”

“...Very well, then.” The redhead chuckles and goes to take her glasses off again-

“-No, leave them on.” Delia instructs with a sort of lustful timbre, eyes suddenly hooded and lips slightly parted. “Get everything else off.”

She leaves the magazine on the dressing table and walks Patsy backwards, the few steps to the bed.

And Patsy happily complies, falling back onto the duvet lightly. 

And the smaller woman quickly sets about undoing the buckle of the redhead’s belt.

“You were so right, Darling.” Patsy leans back on her elbows with a delighted anticipatory grin, “I really did need glasses, they’re improving my life immeasurably at the moment.”


	10. It's For The Best

**July, 1965**

“Was everything how you wanted it, with the wedding? Were you happy with everything?” Patsy asks quietly, playing with a lock of Delia’s hair.

They’re in bed, at a little chateau in the South of France, on the first night of their honeymoon.

“Everything was lovely.” The smaller woman murmurs back. “Especially Trixie’s best woman speech, I had no idea about some of the things you got up to in your wild and misspent youth.”

“I didn’t actually steal a car. We had an emergency with a patient and an ambulance wouldn’t have arrived in time. A kindly neighbor _willingly_ let me use his car to take her to hospital...after some _creative persuasion_. I really believe most people want to do the right thing in these situations, sometimes they just need a bit of prodding.”

“You threatened him with a speculum.”

“I didn’t _threaten_ him, Trixie was exaggerating. You know how men are, all you have to do is _say_ the word tampon and the idiots run screaming.”

“One of those heartwarming stories to save for the grand children,” Delia says wryly.

“Speaking of children, I thought May was going to burst with excitement over getting to be your bridesmaid.”

“She was so sweet, I hope the photos turn out well.” Delia closes her eyes and snuggles a bit closer. 

“You looked divinely beautiful in your dress,” Patsy presses a soft kiss to the brunette’s lips, “I couldn’t stop staring.” 

“Mmm,” The smaller woman acknowledges vaguely.

“I love you,” The redhead continues her trail of soft kisses, “Do you fancy any more...?” She queries, one hand drifting below the duvet.

Delia catches it before it reaches its obviously intended destination and holds it still, lacing their fingers together.

“It’s five in the morning, we haven’t slept all night,” The brunette laughs tiredly.

“I’m sorry, Darling. You know I just want to make sure you’re happy.” Patsy shifts back a bit, respectfully.

She plays with the ring on Delia's finger.

The original ring, from years ago, which they had thought was lost forever.

Mrs. Busby _did_ have it.

She returned it to them, after her and Patsy agreed to their ceasefire.

“You made me _very happy_ several times already this evening. I need a bit of rest, My Love.” Delia explains.

“How about a nice massage then, to help you fall asleep?”

“What’s going on?” The smaller woman opens her eyes and seems to wake up a bit, “You keep asking me if I’m happy, you’re waiting on me hand and foot...”

“You’ve wanted this for so long, you deserve to have everything perfect.” 

“It's deeper than that, it’s not just about the wedding.”

Patsy sighs and rolls onto her back, “All of this has made me think...I worry that things aren’t exactly equal between us.” 

“In what way?”

“You’ve always given me so much. Love and support and understanding - no one’s ever made the effort to understand me the way you do. I worry I don’t return it in equal measure, that I’ve never managed to be quite as good to you as you’ve been to me.”

Delia is silent for a time and the redhead wonders if she hasn’t simply fallen asleep, but-

“-Do you remember what I told you about Jack Owens?” The smaller woman asks quietly.

Patsy sets her jaw at the mention of the man she would very happily murder if she ever met him down a dark street.

“Yes.” 

He was at school with Delia. One of those sort of boys who was always trying to kiss her or grope her, as if he was entitled, regardless of her feelings.

She kept telling him she wanted him to stop but he wouldn’t, and one night at a party, when they were fifteen, he cornered her and tried to drag her upstairs.

She stood on his foot with her heel and was able to get away.

“You’re the only person I ever told. All my friends thought Jack was a dreamboat, they were actually _jealous_ of the 'attention' I got from him. And it would have been pointless to tell my parents. Mam would have concocted some medieval logic about how it was all my fault, Dad would have just cried.”

Patsy wraps the brunette up in her arms, “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to talk to at the time.”

“No one could understand why I wanted to go to nurses' training and work in London so badly. And of course I couldn’t explain that I wanted to finally be part of a queer community - I’d still be locked in my room to this day if I’d said that.”

“They must have known how clever you were, that a mind like yours would be entirely wasted working in your father's shop and settling down with a local chap.”

“Clever enough to convince my parents to let me go. Daft enough to convince myself I would finally be free once I was on my own in London. I was so sure no one could force me to do something I didn’t want at that point. I remember reporting for my first day of training and thinking - _this is it Busby, you’ve finally made it_. Then Matron asked where I most wanted to be assigned. And I said ‘obstetrics or neonatal’-”

“-And she said ‘then you can shadow Nurse Mount in male surgery’?” Patsy guesses. “I learned that one the hard way too. You always had to ask her for the opposite of what you wished your orders to be.”

“I felt like it was all pointless. Why had I even bothered moving to London? Nothing I wanted had ever mattered to anyone.” 

“I’m sorry you got stuck in male surgery with me,” Patsy says sympathetically. “You’d think men who are ill enough to be in hospital would keep their hands and their lewd comments to themselves. But they didn’t even see us as nurses, it was all some kind of NHS funded holiday for them and we were just part of the hareem with which guests could do as they pleased.”

“You made all the difference though. You were the sweetest thing. You listened to me, you _heard_ me. You waited for me to tell you when I wanted to kiss you and when I was ready to do _more_ than just kiss you. And for the first time in my entire life, what I wanted mattered. Sometimes, making an effort in a relationship means not doing anything at all and letting the other person take the lead.”

“Oh,” Patsy smiles softly, “I’m not too bad at that, then?”

“You don’t always go along with everything-” 

“-I do so!” The redhead protests.

Delia laughs, “You don’t always want the same things as me. And that’s fine. What you want is important too.” 

“Well, sometimes I can be a bit slow, but eventually I apologise and admit I was wrong and then we do things your way.”

“What’s meaningful to me is that you’ll always hear my point of view, even when we disagree. I’m not just a daughter or a nurse or an object for some wanker’s gratification. I’m a real, whole person when I’m with you. You know me, you see who I truly am.”

When they arrive home at Nonnatus, everyone is gathered by the front steps.

At first, Patsy thinks it’s a welcoming party for her and Delia.

But then the redhead notices Mother Mildred, stood there with an inconsolable wailing infant in her arms. 

The older woman must have the new group of girls from Hong Kong.

Which doesn’t make sense, because she’d said they would be arriving _two weeks_ from now.

And this is somewhat unfortunate timing.

And now the redhead is beginning to panic. Because she knows May will want to hug Delia first and call her Mam. 

And Patsy has worked very hard to ensure Mother Mildred never witnesses anything queer. 

“You stay in the car for a couple of minutes,” The redhead suggests to Delia, “I’ll try to create a diversion.”

Outside the cab, May runs to her Mum cheerfully.

“Hello Little One!” Patsy kneels and gives the girl a hug, “I’ve missed you.”

“Where’s Mam?” - Is the first thing the girl wants to know.

The redhead evades answering and pulls Trixie aside, quietly asking the blonde to keep Delia in the taxi for a moment while Mother Mildred is distracted.

“Is Mam in the taxi?” May asks again.

“Your Mum is right here, Silly,” Patsy tries to control the situation, watching Mother Mildred out the corner of her eye to try and gauge how much the older woman can hear.

“No, _Mam_.” May starts to get a bit distressed, she cranes her neck trying to get a look, “Did she not come back?”

And Patsy realises maybe this is not a good plan.

It might be bringing up some latent feelings of abandonment in the girl.

May had a mother once before, who left her with nuns and never came back. 

But Delia is at their side in an instant.

Because she’s got a sixth sense for when May is upset.

The brunette takes the girl in her arms and hugs her close and whispers a few reassurances that quickly have the little thing smiling again.

And now May is back to being carefree and skipping around with Garbo.

Trixie reappears and gives Patsy an apologetic look.

“I did my best,” The blonde mutters under her breath, “Your wife is very hard to control. She wanted to see her daughter and there was no stopping her.”

_‘Your wife’._

Patsy can’t help but grin at the way her friends have so easily taken to speaking about her and Delia in the same casual manner they would refer to any married couple.

It's a double edged sword. It feels wonderful to hear. But there's always the fear that it will be said in front of the wrong person. 

Fortunately, Mother Mildred doesn't seem to have been paying Patsy and her family much attention.

The nun seems jolly as ever when she eventually makes her way over to the redhead. 

“I’m told you were on holiday in the South of France? What did you two get up to?” The older woman asks Patsy conversationally.

“Er...we sat by the pool, mostly.” The redhead answers awkwardly. 

She can’t very well say she was in bed with Delia the entire time.

“Hmm, interesting that neither of you developed a tan.” Mother Mildred notes.

“There were a lot of shade trees?” Patsy swallows nervously. 

She wouldn’t actually know if there were trees by the pool.

Or if there was a pool, at all.

They were never really clothed enough to leave their room, even for France. 

(They’re newlyweds, stop judging them!)

“Sounds lovely,” Mother Mildred smiles pleasantly.

“Yes, it was,” Patsy utters her first honest response in this conversation.

“And how generous of you to take your ‘secretary’ along,” The nun’s eyes twinkle knowingly. 

It happens so fast that Patsy can’t be sure she didn’t imagine it.

And then Sister Julienne is suggesting - “Why don’t we all go inside, perhaps some tea and something to eat?” 

“Do you mind, Dear?” Mother Mildred hands the baby she’s holding to Patsy, “I neglected to have any breakfast, I shall need both hands free for my elevenses.”

“Oh, of course.” Patsy accepts the crying bundle-

-Who instantly quiets down in the redhead’s arms for some reason. 

Delia smiles and softly says hello to the baby.

The tiny thing blinks up at the brunette for a long moment.

And then smiles back.

And, if the look on Delia’s face is anything to go by, her heart has been thoroughly melted.

She quickly takes over, gathering the little thing in her own arms and cooing something lovingly in Welsh. 

Patsy doesn’t understand the language but she’s heard this one-sided conversation many times in her career as a midwife. 

It’s the same way every mother greets her new baby. 

It’s natural, instinctual, Delia doesn’t even seem to be aware of what she’s doing. 

_But that’s simply how it works, isn’t it?_

There’s a recognition, a transcendent link between a mother and her child. 

Neither of them have to think about it. 

Neither have to be taught. 

They know each other, always.

May stands on her toes and eagerly tries to get a better look at the new arrival.

The baby must be young, Patsy surmises.

_Six or seven weeks-_

“-About six weeks old, best we can tell.” Mother Mildred explains inside, as everyone sits down to eat. “Little Lynn was left at the front door of the mission in Hong Kong a few nights ago. It was decided that she would be flown here immediately, ahead of the other group, because she has some special needs. Our sisters at the mission thought she would be better accommodated at the Mother House. I went to meet her at the airport and thought I’d drop by here to see you all on my way back.”

“What sort of special needs does she have?” Delia asks curiously. 

“We’re not entirely sure yet. But she’s been unreactive to noise, deafness is a distinct possibility. And I’m told there may be limited mobility of the legs.” The older woman turns to Patsy, “While I’m here, might we discuss the other girls who will be arriving soon? Three have not yet been placed so I brought their files with me, I thought you could have a look and let me know who you might be interested in adopting.”

“Have you found a family to adopt Lynn?” Delia questions.

Mother Mildred sighs with barely concealed frustration, “I’m afraid Lynn will likely spend the rest of her life in care, at the Mother House. It’s an uphill battle placing even the able bodied girls from Hong Kong. Most people want white male babies, and they don’t want anything to be wrong with them.”

Delia frowns deeply and clutches Lynn closer to her chest protectively, “There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with her. She’s perfect. She’s just a bit different.”

Mother Mildred smiles, “You and I know she’s perfect, Dear. But people still have their prejudices. Not many families have the means nor, dare I say, _the will_ to provide what she might need in the future. ”

“I have both.” Patsy states without hesitation. 

She glances at Delia, just to be sure they agree on this. 

_As if that was even necessary._

Because the brunette only beams back. 

“You’re sure you’re capable of it?” Mother Mildred scrutinises Patsy, “You’ve done well with May, I’ll give you that. But you’ll need to prove that you understand Lynn’s needs and are committed to providing for them.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I want to be Lynn’s mother and I’m capable of giving her everything she needs. I’ll learn sign language. I’ll pay to have Nonnatus refurbished and retrofitted with ramps, in addition to stairs. I’ll ensure Lynn has all the same opportunities that May has.”

“...I did always have a good feeling about you, Nurse Mount. And your ‘secretary’.” Mother Mildred actually _winks_ and tucks into her tea cakes then.

And Patsy’s certain she didn’t imagine _that._

After everyone who eats solid food is finished with their meal, Delia sits on the sofa in the parlor feeding Lynn. 

May is watching with keen interest.

Garbo kept trying to lick the baby’s face, and Patsy finally got disgusted enough that she went to put the dog outside.

She hovers in the doorway to the parlor now, watching the _human_ members of her family, with a very full heart. 

She’s not sure where the rest of the house has gone. 

They seem to have come to an unspoken consensus, that they would make themselves scarce and allow Lynn some time alone with her new family to bond. 

“How is she finding this formula?” The redhead asks. “We can get the brand they used in Hong Kong if she doesn’t take to it.”

_There are some residual perks to being silent partner at a firm that brokers the global exportation of goods._

“She was a bit fussy,” Delia informs, “Takes after her Mum already.”

“I’m not fussy, I just know what I like.”

The smaller woman looks up pointedly, “I have an easier time getting our five-year-old to eat broccoli.”

“ _Broccoli?_ Be reasonable, Delia!” Patsy is rather affronted, “I let you make me eat peas and carrots sometimes.”

May giggles at their bickering.

Delia just rolls her eyes and looks back down at the baby, who seems to be done with her feeding.

The redhead joins them on the sofa, pressing a kiss to both of her daughters' heads and wrapping an arm around her wife.

Lynn yawns. 

And Delia looks on in awe, she seems positively overcome with adoration for the tiny thing.

"Everything she does is perfect." 

"Then she takes after _you_ ," Patsy kisses the brunette's cheek affectionately. 

“Oh.” The smaller woman wrinkles her nose after a minute. “I think it’s your turn, Mum.”

“Am I on nappy duty?”

“Well, _I_ did feed her,” The brunette explains rationally, “We have to evenly share responsibilities here, Pats. It sets a good example for the children.”

The redhead turns to May, “So, what do you think of your new sister?”

“I think she’s just smashing!” The older girl enthuses. 

“Do you want to learn how to change her nappy?”

“Err…” The phone rings and May hops up, “I’d love to help you Mummy, but I have to answer that, I’m on call.”

The girl bustles off to the clinical room, as if she’s got some very important work to do.

Patsy shares an amused chuckle with Delia, over May’s imitation of them. 

Upstairs, the redhead carefully secures Lynn’s fresh nappy and checks to make sure it’s not too tight, gently crooking a finger between the fabric and the girl’s belly. 

That must have tickled because the little thing responds with an infectious bubbly giggle.

“Having a laugh at me already, are you?” Patsy grins, speaking with a gentle sing-song tone. “You’ll fit right into this family.” 

Lynn pokes her little tongue out, as if to confirm that she is very capable of teasing her Mum.

And then the girl smiles adorably.

“I can’t be cross with that face,” The redhead smiles back and strokes the tuft of dark hair on the baby’s head, “Your smile could light up all of London, I think, brighter than the sun - I’ll never have to take your Mam to Mallorca again!” 

The girl flails her little fists.

She’s an active and engaged baby, certainly. 

But she hasn’t kicked her legs at all, which would also be typical behaviour.

The redhead runs a fingertip across Lynn’s tiny toes, giving them a tickle.

No response. 

“Well, that’s not a problem, My Little Sunshine.” Pasty smiles at the girl and kisses the soles of her small feet. 

The redhead steps a few paces away and claps her hands twice, it makes a nice crisp sound in the otherwise quiet room.

A hearing child at this age would startle at a sudden noise like that. 

Lynn simply continues wriggling and gurgling, entirely unperturbed.

“Say, did you know, Mam and I love you to bits?” Patsy finishes dressing the baby back up and wraps her in her blanket. “I realise it’s likely you can’t hear me, but I’m going to learn how to tell you in ways that you can understand. Because I want you to always know how loved you are.”

They find Delia in the kitchen, washing up the bottle from earlier. 

The brunette dries her hands and happily takes the baby, swaying and bouncing a bit to keep the little thing from fussing.

“I think she’s a Mummy’s girl,” The smaller woman smiles and transfers Lynn back to Patsy.

“What makes you say tha-”

-As soon as the redhead speaks Lynn stops fussing.

Patsy fixes the girl’s blanket a bit.

And the little thing seems suddenly fascinated by the crimson nail varnish her Mum is wearing.

So Patsy offers Lynn a finger to hold in her tiny hand, which the baby grips very tightly. 

Delia observes all of this, completely enchanted, “She’s mad about you!” 

“I wonder why? I always thought of you as being the warmer one - more nurturing and motherly, that sort of thing. When May comes inside with scraped knees and tears in her eyes, she tends to want her Mam more often than her Mummy.”

Yet, strangely, it’s Patsy who Lynn seems to prefer.

When the baby dozes off and lets go of the redhead’s finger, Patsy uses her newly free hand to light herself a cigarette while she ponders the situation- 

-And Delia all but rips the offending item from the redhead’s lips.

“Not around the children! Didn’t you read that article in the British Medical Journal I left on our bed a few weeks ago?”

“...No.”

“New studies are saying that smoking isn’t just bad for smokers, everyone around you breaths it in second-hand.”

Patsy blinks, she looks down at the lighter and packet of cigarettes on the kitchen table.

It honestly never occurred to her.

It makes perfect sense now that someone’s pointed it out. 

But she wouldn’t have thought she was doing any harm to Delia or their daughters.

If there was even the suggestion of such a thing, then the redhead would have stopped. Immediately. 

And so she throws what’s on the table into the rubbish bin.

And wipes her palm off on her trousers, as if she just touched something vile. 

Delia is in a very good mood when they climb into bed later. 

She snuggles close and presses a series of kisses along the redhead’s jawline.

“I’m really proud of you, Pats.” 

“I know it’s for the best, I’m sorry it took me this long to listen to you. I don’t want to be hurting anyone else.” 

“Nor hurting yourself either, I hope. The girls and I want to keep you around for as long as we can. Lynn certainly seems taken with you.”

“It’s curious how she calms down for me.”

“I wonder if it’s because you have a deeper voice than most,” Delia muses.

“Do you think she might only have partial deafness, she can hear lower pitched sounds?” 

“No, she didn’t react at all to hearing Doctor Turner’s voice when he came by to have a look at her. But that’s because he didn’t hold her, I was holding her while he examined her. I think a deep voice produces more of a vibration in your chest, she can feel it when you hold her and it soothes her somehow - as opposed to my voice which is sort of average, or someone like Trixie who has a much higher voice.”

“How clever of you to puzzle it out, Darling.” Patsy considers it thoughtfully, “It’s my voice she likes...”

“She wouldn’t be the first girl to fall for it.”

“Oh?” The redhead grins, “Do tell.”

“I thought you had the dreamiest voice I’d ever heard, when we met. I kept trying to get you to talk to me, but you were so bloody shy you hardly said a word those first few months,” Delia laughs. 

“Until you finally got fed up and kissed me.”

“Yes,” The brunette leans in for a brief goodnight kiss right now, and then she turns off the bedside lamp. “After that you were alright.”

“...Just _'alright'!?_ ”

“You were fine,” Delia rolls over with her back to Patsy.

It’s been a long day. 

They’re both tired from travelling. 

Lynn could wake up for a feeding at any moment. 

Really, Patsy should just cuddle up and be big spoon and take the opportunity to rest. 

But she stares at the back of Delia’s head, “...Just _'fine'!?_ ”

“Go to sleep!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait with this chapter, I've been very busy at work. I'll do my best to post the last two in a timely fashion.


	11. I Heard That

**August, 1967**

They’re on a family holiday in Scotland.

In the abyss of summer, Poplar gets a bit hot and uncomfortable and... _moist._

Any chance to escape is usually taken.

It’s also an opportunity to oversee the refurbishment of this property for Lynn’s accommodation.

Everything has already been done at Nonnatus, of course.

And Ramps have been installed inside this house, now it’s just a matter of finishing the web of pathways being built on the grounds. 

Before, it was just fluffy lawns and inaccessible gardens. 

Grass can be difficult to navigate in Lynn’s small wheelchair. 

They commissioned a custom-built chair that’s lightweight and low to the ground, for ease of use and safety. 

Like any two-year-old, Lynn is still developing her coordination. If she takes a little tumble, there will be no more damage done than the typical bumps and bruises one might see on a toddler if she were learning to walk. 

Commercially available paediatric wheelchairs are fairly bulky and seem to be designed more for older children.

Lynn would have to wait a few more years to be able to manage them. 

She is still small enough to carry around or fit in a pram. 

But those options seemed a bit limiting.

Patsy and Delia want their daughter to have the same independence that all insatiably inquisitive toddlers should have, to discover the world on her own terms.

Today, the whole family is taking Garbo for a walk on some of the pathways that have been finished.

The dog is very pleased at the moment, he’s found himself a good throwing stick and he prances over to show Delia. 

Which of course means they have to stop and have a game of fetch.

Delia tries to show May and Lynn how to give the stick a throw. 

But the older girl hasn’t quite developed the strength yet to make it go very far.

And Lynn just stares at the stick in her hand with an adorable amount of confusion, when Delia gives it to her.

“Throw it for the dog, Lovely.” The brunette signs.

Lynn still seems like she’s not entirely sure what her Mam wants her to do with the stick.

The toddler tries whacking the dog with it a couple times, and then looks to Delia for approval.

To his credit, Garbo reacts very tolerantly.

He’s always been gentle with the girls.

He still chews on Patsy all the time, but that’s besides the point.

“Let’s be nice to Garbo,” Delia explains to Lynn. 

The brunette helps the small girl pet the dog kindly. 

And then Delia signs the word, “Throw,” and demonstrates by sending the stick a few yards away.

A butterfly lands on some wildflowers growing nearby and Lynn is swiftly distracted from the lesson.

Delia smiles fondly and kisses the toddler’s cheek, encouraging her to go follow the butterfly. 

This path goes right up to the edge of the property, beyond the well manicured lawns is a little wooded bramble with all sorts of plant-life and rabbits and foxes.

Once, they spotted a hedgehog. 

Delia and the girls went mad.

_Evidently hedgehog sightings are a particularly rare treat to people who appreciate disease carrying little rodents._

Delia is this sort of earth-mother who somehow knows the names and properties of every tree and shrub and shrew in existence. 

When she was a girl, her father tried to impart a reverence for nature by taking her traipsing all over the wilds of Wales.

Mr. Busby’s efforts were clearly successful. Because now Delia spends hours outside with her own daughters, passing down all of that knowledge.

Patsy drapes an arm over the brunette’s shoulders and they stroll along for a bit, while the girls explore and Garbo rolls in something that will probably require the redhead to give him a bath later. 

“You’re the perfect mother.” Patsy tells the smaller woman lovingly, “You always know just what to do or say. I find parenting quite baffling, to be honest. I never know what I’m doing.”

“All you need to know is that you love them, and make sure they know it too. You’re a wonderful mum, don’t worry so much.”

The brunette’s head whips around to look at the girls then-

-Just as the little ones come across a patch of stinging nettles and Lynn reaches out to grab at them. 

Upon having children, Delia developed some kind of intuitive super-human sonar. 

It’s as if she’s got eyes in the back of her head, as if she can see through walls and hear things all the way from the next county. 

Today, there isn’t any action required from Super-Mam.

Because May, ever the doting big sister, catches the toddler’s pudgy wrist with a softness that is so sweet it makes Patsy's heart clench. 

“Don’t touch that,” The older girl signs, offering some gentle guidance.

“Why?” Lynn signs back (‘why’ is one of her favourite words, rivaled only by ‘no’).

Her signs are getting more precise every day. 

Just as a hearing child learns to speak by babbling, Lynn started learning her language by flexing her hands and making seemingly nonsensical gestures in an effort to mimic the signs that her mothers and her sister were using to communicate with her. 

“These plants hurt,” May explains patiently.

The toddler’s head swivels back to look at the nettles. 

She’s clearly still tempted to touch them.

Patsy jogs over and bends down to give her a little tickle and shift her focus.

“It’s hot out,” The redhead speaks and signs at the same time, “Why don’t we all go back inside and have some ice lollies?”

The girls seem very pleased with that suggestion. 

But Delia frowns at Patsy, “ _They_ can have ice lollies, _you_ can have an apple if you want something sweet.”

“I want something _cold_.”

“Put it in the icebox for a few minutes, then.”

_How does she automatically have an answer for everything?_

Patsy hangs her head in defeat, “...Yes, Darling.” 

This torture all started when she went back to work at Nonnatus.

Part of maintaining a nursing and midwifery registration requires one to undergo regular mental and physical examinations, for the purposes of determining one’s fitness to perform the job. 

Especially if there’s been any gap or hiatus in practice.

With patient’s lives in their hands, it’s a perfectly reasonable requirement.

And the redhead had no complaints about it at the time. 

In terms of mental acuity - there was no problem at all. 

Physically - Patsy is _well._

She’s healthy.

Doctor Turner said she was fit to work. 

(Everyone calm down.)

Her blood pressure was simply _a bit_ high. 

_Which could mean anything!_

It could just be that she gets nervous and uncomfortable while being examined, because she has no trouble taking care of patients but she hates being a patient herself. 

It doesn’t automatically mean she’s going to have a stroke tomorrow or something. 

Which is why the redhead forgot about it and didn’t even think to mention it to Delia. 

But Doctor _Traitor_ happened to remind her about it, at Poplar’s Commonwealth Day party, a few months ago. 

_As if it’s any business of his, how many crisps I eat._

Delia overheard and got scared.

And now the brunette is insisting Patsy take more exercise and eat less sodium and _relax_. 

“Darling, if you’d let me _sit down_ for a moment and eat real food perhaps I would be able to ‘relax’,” The redhead had argued, while being forced to do star jumps.

Her plea was of no avail. 

Delia seems to think it’s great fun to get the whole family to be more active. 

The girls love it.

Garbo is happy no matter what, as long as someone throws a ball for him every once in a while.

Personally, Patsy would like to go back to the house and have a nap. 

When Delia finally does allow them to return indoors, and the girls have finished their ice lollies.

The brunette takes Lynn upstairs for a nappy change. 

May skips off somewhere with the dog to play.

And Patsy, taking advantage of a rare unsupervised moment, is currently trying to sneak into the kitchen without getting caught by the cook. 

She just wants to make herself a cup of tea, maybe have a crumpet with some nice butter.

_Butter..._

She can almost remember what it tastes like. 

May comes up from behind the redhead and loudly announces their presence in the corridor, just outside the kitchen.

“Mummy! Want to play tea party with me!?”

Patsy turns around and puts a finger to her lips to keep the girl quiet. 

But when the redhead turns back around, she’s face to face with Mrs. McCallum, the cook.

The proximity gives Patsy a bit of a fright and she jumps back a half step. 

“Did I hear someone say tea?” The cook addresses the redhead, “I’ve just baked a batch of fresh scones for the wee ones. And I’ve cut up some carrot sticks and cucumber slices for The Ladies of The House.”

Patsy is horrified.

_Carrot sticks and cucu-_

“-Look, please, can’t I at least have a packet of biscuits?” She begs.

“Biscuits, _from a packet?_ ” The older woman narrows her eyes, “You don’t pay me to open packets, you pay me to cook!”

“Freshly baked biscuits, then?” The redhead suggests hopefully.

“The other Lady of The House gave me very clear instructions about what you’re allowed to eat.” Mrs. McCallum states sternly.

Patsy acquiesces meekly.

Because she’s too weak from all the exercise and the lack of proper food to argue the point. 

“Really, you can simply call us Delia and Patsy,” She mentions, “You don’t have to say ‘Ladies of The House’ or anything like that.”

“Impertinent. Just like your mother.” Mrs. McCallum responds with a disapproving little ‘hmpf’ at the redhead’s casualness. “I do hope you at least plan to raise the wee ones to be proper Ladies.”

Patsy rubs at her temple, at the headache forming there.

She turns to usher May off to the dining room, while they wait for the rest of the family to join them.

But that’s when Patsy notices the girl is wearing a distinctive beaded necklace. 

The sort of long dangly ones that were popular in the 1920s and early 30s. 

It’s something that the redhead recognises.

There was a photo at her childhood home in Singapore, of her mother wearing that same necklace.

“Where did you get this?” Patsy reaches out to touch the beads. 

“In the secret place.”

“What secret place, where?”

“The one in my room.”

“Where is there a secret place in your room? Show it to me,” The redhead says intently.

May hesitates, “Are you cross?”

“No, Sweetheart, I’m not cross with you.” Patsy assures. “I just want you to share the secret.” 

“You’ll need this, it’s funny, you have to turn it to the left twice.” The girl reaches into a pocket in her dress and produces a key. 

The useless one that Patsy had inherited in the ridiculous trust her father left her a few years ago. 

“Where on earth did you come across this key?”

“In Mam’s jewelry box,” May says, and then adds hastily- “She said I could play in it.”

“Mmhmm,” Patsy raises a skeptical eyebrow, “Is this going to be like the time I found you drawing all over your face with Mam’s lipstick and you told me ‘Garbo did it’?”

“No! I _swear_ she said I could.”

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve found then.”

The girl leads them up to the room she shares with her sister.

This house has a completely unnecessary amount of rooms, and the first night here the children were each given their own to sleep in.

After that they asked to stay together. 

They’re used to sharing a room at Nonnatus and they seem comforted by each other’s proximity. 

Not to mention that Garbo had an absolute crisis because he couldn’t determine which girl’s bed he should sleep at the foot of.

He paced the corridor between their two rooms all night, whimpering about not being able to watch over them both at the same time like he usually does.

At the moment, Delia is just helping Lynn back into her sundress when May and Patsy walk into the room.

“May! Mummy!” The toddler signs cheerfully, “Play?”

“Yes, we’re playing treasure hunt!” Patsy signs back, “You’re captain of the expedition, Sunshine.”

The redhead swings the girl up into her arms playfully, and then gives a formal salute.

Lynn returns the salute very solemnly.

Delia smiles and shakes her head at them, “You lot are so adorable, I can hardly stand it sometimes.”

May goes to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. 

She pushes the little dresses hanging there to one side and points to a barely noticeable keyhole in the back panelling.

The wardrobe has a false back with a compartment that Patsy had never even noticed. 

She searched all over this house for any trace of her mother, and she managed to miss this somehow. 

The whole family gathers with the redhead, on the floor in front of the wardrobe, as more jewelry spills out - even Garbo pokes his curious wet nose at everything and tries to eat a bracelet, until Lynn signs for him to lay down. 

He can understand a sign language command from a two-year-old.

And Delia has trained him to fetch the newspaper and catch a frisbee in midair and bark an alarm if either of the girls show any sign of distress during the night.

Which proves he’s plenty clever.

He just _chooses_ not to listen to Patsy, no matter how politely she asks him to stop eating her clothes.

Along with the jewelry is a collection of photographs. Patsy’s mother, her parents together, some of their wedding photos, her father’s Navy photo, another uniformed young man - an RAF officer that Patsy assumes must be the Uncle John she never met who was killed when his plane was shot down in the Battle of Britain.

And there’s a small book, a diary, penned in Patsy’s mother’s looping handwriting. 

“Who?” Lynn points at a picture of the redhead’s mother. 

“She-” Patsy shifts the girl in her arms so she can have her hands a bit more free to sign her response, “She’s your grandmother.”

“Gran?” The toddler seems thoroughly confused. 

And Patsy laughs at the thought that Lynn is trying to understand how the woman in the photo could possibly be Mrs. Busby.

“No, your grandmother on my side - my mother.”

“You have a Mummy? But you’re so big and grown up!” May speaks and signs at the same time. 

Even when they’re not communicating directly with Lynn, they always sign if she’s in the room.

Patsy grins, “I was once little, like you.” 

“No...” May giggles as though she can’t believe it. “How come we never go to your Mummy’s house for holidays, like we go to Gran and Grandad’s house in Pen-book-shore?”

“Pem-broke-shire,” Patsy helps correct her pronunciation.

“Pen-book-shire.”

The redhead looks to Delia.

“Close enough,” The smaller woman just shrugs.

“Does your Mummy live in Penbookshire too?” May asks Patsy, “Can we go see her?” 

“...No, Sweetie. My mother died long ago.”

“Oh, sort of like how my first Mama went away?”

“Sort of. Do you remember your first mother much?”

“I remember she had pretty hair like Mam and she would sing to me like you do.”

“It’s very natural to think about her and have questions,” Delia says, “Mummy and I are always here, if you want to talk about her. And if you’d rather talk to someone else, I’m sure we can find a counsellor - someone not from our family whose job it is to listen when people need to talk.”

“But I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

“We would meet them first with you and make sure you felt comfortable.” Delia pulls May to her and hugs the girl close, and she makes sure to include Lynn in this, “I think both of your birth mums were the bravest women ever, they loved you very much.”

“If they loved us, why did they give us away?” May questions doubtfully.

When adopting the girls, Patsy had asked if there was any chance that the birth mothers could be contacted, in case May and Lynn wanted to have a relationship with their biological families. 

But everything was so anonymous that there’s virtually no possibility of that.

Three-year-old May had a note pinned to her clothes when she was found near the mission in Hong Kong - explaining that the girl had an allergy to penicillin and asking that she be cared for.

Lynn, similarly, had a letter tucked into her blankets - expressing sorrow about having to give the baby up and wishing her a good future.

Patsy had wanted both messages, or at least the translated English copies. Her and Delia would keep them safe until the girls were old enough to read and understand them.

But Mother Mildred thought it best to seal them in the girl’s adoption files. 

“In my experience, it’s less painful for the children if there’s a clean break,” The nun had said, “The birth parents are never coming back for them, why let any residual emotions about that linger? These letters will only offer them more questions than answers.” 

Patsy had mildly disagreed at the time.

But she didn’t press the subject much because she was afraid it would affect Mother Mildred’s decision about allowing the adoptions. 

So, without any proof, she’s now trying to explain the very complicated circumstances that lead a loving parent to give their child up. 

“There are a lot of scary things going on in the world,” Patsy does her best to simplify the political upheaval in mainland China, “Your biological mothers risked everything to bring you to Hong Kong, because they hoped you would be safer.”

“You’ll keep us safe, won’t you Mummy?” May looks over her shoulder, as though she expects something ‘scary’ to pop out from behind the curtains right this very moment. 

“Of course,” The redhead promises, and she decides now is a good time to lighten the mood, “I am an expert monster scarer, after all.”

She growls a bit and playfully attacks Lynn with kisses. 

The toddler squirms and laughs delightedly.

And when May giggles, Patsy turns on the older girl as well.

The topic of their birth parents will be revisited many times as the children grow up. 

But it doesn’t always have to be a somber affair. 

Patsy and Delia will find ways to help the girls celebrate where and who they came from. 

“Do you ever think about your Mummy?” May asks the redhead, once their collective silliness has subsided a bit. 

“I try to. I wish she could have met all of you, she would have loved you so dearly,” Patsy kisses Lynn’s head, “She would have just adored the three of you, almost as much as I do.”

“Garbo?” Lynn questions, apparently wanting to know if he would also have been loved by Mrs. Mount.

The dog picks his head up with interest at having seen his name signed. 

“I think your grandmother would have been more of a cat person,” The redhead teases and gives Garbo a little scratch behind the ears.

And she eyes the diary among the rest of the items found in the wardrobe. 

She’ll have a look at it later. 

There are more pressing matters now. 

Like playing tea party with her daughters and then chasing them around the garden till supper.

In the evenings, the whole family cuddles up on May’s bed while Patsy reads a story. 

They’ve been going through _The Wind in the Willows_ lately.

Lynn lays on Patsy, the toddler’s little head pressed to the redhead’s chest and absorbing the gentle rumblings of her voice.

Delia signs the words for Lynn to follow as Patsy speaks them.

The redhead is going slow so that May can try to read along and ask questions about words she doesn’t know yet.

“‘And from the heart of the earth’...” Patsy trails off when she notices that Delia has stopped signing along.

“They’re long gone,” The smaller woman whispers with a soft smile. 

The redhead looks down to see that both girls are sound asleep.

When Patsy finishes getting herself ready for bed, Delia is already tucked up with the novel she’s been reading. 

The brunette has always been a voracious reader.

With rather eclectic tastes as well. 

One week she’s interested in a very dry medical journal, the next she’s immersed in a fustian fictional fantasy.

Patsy finds her reading glasses and holds up her mother’s diary as she climbs in next to the brunette.

Delia offers a supportive smile, “I’ll just leave you to it then. Give you some privacy.” And she turns back to her book.

“...Er, right, privacy. That’s very good of you.”

The redhead scans the first few pages of the diary. 

And then her eyes flick over to glance at Delia. 

The brunette seems fairly immersed in her own reading. 

So, Patsy turns back to the diary and goes through another few pages.

And then she spares a little glimpse at Delia again. 

Still immersed.

Back to the diary.

Only one page this time.

And then another look at Delia-

“-Do you want me to read it to you?” The brunette finally asks.

“Oh thank you, Darling.” Patsy takes off her glasses with relief, “You know yours is the only handwriting I can properly understand, I can’t even read my own sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask before?”

“I didn’t want to trouble you, you seemed very engrossed in your book.”

“Only because I was trying to give you some space with your mother.” The smaller woman shakes her head fondly and opens her arms, “Come here, My Love.”

Patsy snuggles close and rests her head over Delia’s heart. 

The dates of the diary entries indicate that Patsy’s mother would have been nineteen or twenty when writing them.

Most are the typical fanciful musings one might expect of a young woman at that age. 

Delia reads aloud and laughs with Patsy, about some of the more whimsical notions.

There’s quite a bit about a charming young chap called Charles Mount, whom Patsy’s mother recounts meeting while volunteering for a charity organised by a ladies social club.

The Ladies of the club were stuffy and boring. 

Patsy’s mother liked to escape them, she would hide by the service entrance and smoke.

Young Mr. Mount was working as a florist’s shop boy at the time, and the social club was on his delivery route. 

Patsy’s mother describes her family as strongly disapproving of ‘Charlie’ - as he is affectionately referred to in the diary. 

Even though the Mounts were a comfortably upper-middle class family, Charlie had no title and was therefore still well below his new paramour’s station.

He had decided against the idea of becoming a solicitor like his father.

Instead, having big dreams about earning enough capital as a shop boy to start his own business, with a friend who had been his bunk-mate in the Navy. 

Patsy’s maternal grandparents apparently tried various tactics to scare Charlie off and steer their daughter toward another man who was more established and elite.

But the heart wants what it wants.

And as the diary entries turn towards speculations and dreams of a marriage proposal, tucked away among the back third of the pages, there are two stand-alone entries. 

Not really entries. 

Letters.

Theoretical letters.

Addressed to ‘My Future Son’ and ‘My Future Daughter’.

_To My Future Daughter,_

_I hope I have at least one of you. Girls are better than boys. Don’t tell your father I said so. Charlie is one of the good ones. He’s a bit daft about expressing his feelings, you’ll need to have patience, but he’s got a heart of gold. We’re going to travel the world and take you on all sorts of adventures! I want you to learn everything and meet loads of interesting people. Charlie says perhaps China, maybe you’ll learn to speak Chinese!_

_Love is really grand, don’t ever let anyone tell you who to fall in love with. Not even me. I hope I don’t turn into some old biddy who tries to force you to follow the rules. If I do, just ignore me. Find someone who makes your heart skip every time you see them. Someone brave who isn’t afraid to love you, even when everyone else tells them they shouldn’t._

_Be kind. Be strong. Don’t ever feel alone because you’ll always have my heart with you anywhere you go-_

-The redhead can’t help herself but weep. 

She hides her face in the hollow of Delia’s neck.

The sort of choking sobs that nine-year-old Patsy was too afraid to display when she was forced to watch the emaciated bodies of her mother and sister unceremoniously dumped into an unmarked mass grave. 

Delia strokes Patsy’s hair and holds her tighter. 

“We have to get those letters from mother Mildred.” The redhead says quietly, when she’s all out of tears, “The girls need to know that their birth mothers wanted the best for them. They _need_ to know it.”

The smaller woman agrees, with all of her usual sensitivity about these sorts of things.

Patsy angles her head up a bit for a kiss. 

And Delia tastes of the new brand of toothpaste they decided to try. 

The redhead takes a second to savour the domesticity of the moment.

How fortunate she is.

To be here right now.

With her wife and daughters.

All safe and happy and healthy.

“I love you,” She murmurs and plants another little kiss on Delia’s chin. 

The brunette whispers back, “I love you,” With such a tenderness and an intimacy, as she runs her fingers through Patsy’s hair-

-That Patsy can hardly breathe. 

It’s overwhelming sometimes, how much she loves Delia.

There aren’t really words that suffice. 

All the redhead can do is press her face to the smaller woman’s chest, and kiss her there through the fabric of her nightdress, and mumble ‘I love you’ over and over, and hope that Delia understands the profoundness of it. 

In the morning, the brunette wakes Patsy up _very_ early and expects her to go for a run.

Before they’ve even had any breakfast.

Or tea.

Or coffee. 

_Nothing!_

The redhead is going to outright refuse.

But then Delia bats her eyelashes prettily.

And Patsy is hopelessly besotted-

-Because, an hour later, they’re only now returning home from their run.

Patsy collapses back onto their bed and covers her eyes with her forearm, in a melodramatic way, as if it’s all too much for her. 

After a moment she peaks to see if the action has engendered any sympathy from Delia. 

But the brunette isn’t even looking in that direction.

So Patsy settles for enjoying a nice view of Delia’s bottom in a little pair of high-waisted shorts.

“See anything you fancy?” The smaller woman teases over her shoulder. 

“You’re a work of art, Darling.” The redhead affirms with an appreciative lopsided grin.

“You know, Trixie had it right all along. There’s nothing like a run first thing, to get the day started. It’s so invigorating.” The brunette declares, “We should do this every morning.” 

“I want a divorce,” Patsy responds with something between and grunt and a whine. 

Delia laughs and climbs onto the bed next to her, “You know what your problem is?”

“Darling, why would I ever suss out what my own problems are - and deprive you of the obvious pleasure you get from telling me about them?” 

The smaller woman rolls her eyes at the sarcasm, “You _think_ you hate exercise, but really you just don’t care for the kinds of exercises we’ve been doing.”

“I hate all kinds of exercise, indiscriminately.”

“There is one form of physical exertion that you never say ‘no’ to,” The brunette all but purrs as she slinks a hand low over Patsy’s abdomen...and going lower. “You’ve been very good about maintaining a healthier routine these past few weeks, you deserve a nice reward.”

Then Delia gets up from the bed and pulls off her top and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. 

“Where are you going?” The redhead frowns, “What about my reward?”

“Come join me in the bath and I’ll give it to you.” The smaller woman calls nonchalantly from the other room, “And be quick about it, the girls will be up soon.” 

Patsy falls over, twice, trying to cross the room at a sprint while getting undressed at the same time. 

When she does finally make it to the other room, Delia smirks at her from the bath-

“-I knew I’d find a way to get you to run voluntarily.”

They’re just finishing getting dressed again, when they hear May calling for them.

They find the girl skipping about the childrens’ bedroom, picking out her clothes for the day.

And Lynn just beginning to stir in her cot.

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Patsy signs. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

The toddler smiles and holds her arms out, grasping at the air in the redhead’s direction.

“Up?” Patsy signs the word for her. 

At breakfast, May cheerfully uses the lemon curd and blackberries atop her porridge to make little faces and spell out her name.

Delia also seems quite happy with her half grapefruit and bowl of porridge.

She was always one of those strange people who actually _likes_ healthy food. 

Patsy looks down at the other half of the grapefruit and the murky gray porridge, which is supposed to be her own breakfast.

She pokes at it half-heartedly with her spoon and her lip involuntarily curls up in disgust.

She decides to just ignore it and watch Delia attempt to feed Lynn.

The toddler is in her ‘food throwing prime’. 

She plays with the small slices of banana and the little bowl of porridge she was given. 

Spreading mushy oats across the tray of her high chair, in what Patsy has discovered will soon become a cement-like paste stronger than any other known substance, if allowed to dry. 

“Why doesn’t Mam help you get some of that into your tummy, Lovely Girl?” Delia signs.

Lynn nods and signs a few words of agreement with her tiny, porridge covered hands.

So the brunette picks up the little spoon from the bowl and tries to feed it to Lynn.

But the toddler grins cheekily at the last moment and turns her head in refusal.

This is the second breakfast she’s rejected today. 

Originally she’d been given the same thing as her sister, porridge with a small dollop of lemon curd and a handful of blackberries.

But when Delia tried to feed it to the toddler - Lynn made the sourest little face and flipped the bowl over, very disgruntled.

“I think she won’t eat it because of the lemon,” May had suggested, “I tried to give her a small piece of my lemon tart the other day at tea, she made that same face.”

Delia had looked to Patsy, “I feel like I’m raising a little mini-you sometimes.” 

And the redhead had smiled very proudly at Lynn and signed, “Are you just like your Mummy?”

The toddler tried to sign something that didn’t make any sense, but the way she smiled and waved her hands around excitedly seemed to indicate a positive response. 

So Patsy signed back, “We think lemon is icky, don’t we?” 

And she made a silly disgusted face that caused Lynn to giggle. 

The toddler’s breakfast was replaced, topped with little bites of banana instead. 

But she seems suspicious of porridge now.

If it tasted of lemon once, it could very well taste of lemon again. 

“It’s no fun eating porridge, is it?” Patsy signs and side eyes Delia, “It certainly would be lovely if Mam let us have a proper breakfast.”

“Pats...” The smaller woman says warningly.

“Look at our daughter’s precious face, Darling,” The redhead insists, “She’s miserable, she needs some bacon.”

“Don’t use the baby to extort bacon out of me. I’m _trying_ to teach her good eating habits. She’s already picky enough, we don’t need her to also inherit your complete and utter disregard for arterial health.”

Garbo nudges at the brunette with his nose and circles in the telltale way that signals he needs to go outside. 

So, Delia leaves the kitchen to let the dog out, disappearing down the corridor towards the back door.

They’ve been taking breakfasts at the kitchen table, because Delia thinks it’s more cosy and familial than the formal dining room.

She’d have the family eat all their meals here. 

But it was a real battle with the cook just to get in here for one meal a day. 

And Patsy is suddenly realising how worthwhile that fight truly was...as she eyes the leftover scones from yesterday...just sitting on the worktop, within reach.

She hops up, briefly searching for jam and clotted cream. 

When they can’t be found, she decides she doesn’t have enough time for all the frills.

She grabs a scone and just bites into it unadorned. 

Lynn watches her Mummy’s antics with innocent obliviousness. 

But May is old enough to recognise this as an opportunity and it shows on her face with the way she grins.

“Don’t tell your Mam and I’ll buy you both a pony,” Patsy signs.

She _signs_ it. 

_Silently._

“I heard that. Put the scone down, Pats.” Delia calls.

She sounds like she’s still halfway down the corridor, at least.

_How could she possibly know!?_

Patsy panics and looks around for a way to get rid of the evidence.


	12. You Can Do Anything

**1970**

Patsy grins to herself, crouched behind an armchair.

She can hear May and Lynn and the two youngest members of the Turner family searching about the house, as part of their game.

When a creak in the floorboards sounds in the parlor, Patsy pops up, trying to look as menacing as possible, with a playful roar-

“-ARRRGH!”

Delia jumps back with shock, a hand over her heart, “Are you trying to make me have a coronary event!?” 

“I’m sorry, Darling! I thought you were one of the children,” The redhead reaches out to steady her wife, “How did it go with the Petrovitch baby? You’ve been gone ages.”

“Petrovitch bab _ies,_ plural,” Delia corrects gleefully, “Finally got my twins!” 

“That’s wonderful, Darling! I’m so pleased for you. And I’m sure Mrs. Petrovitch is very happy, she couldn’t have had a better midwife.”

The smaller woman smiles appreciatively at the compliment. 

And then she gives Patsy a once over, apparently only now noticing the redhead’s somewhat eccentric ensemble.

“... _What_ are you wearing?” Delia laughs to the point that tears form in her eyes.

Patsy realises she must look utterly ridiculous, in the fancy dress outfit that the children insisted upon - a combination of some sort of ballerina tutu with an eye patch.

“We’re playing princesses and pirates...I’m not actually sure which one I’m supposed to be,” She admits.

“You’re either a one-eyed princess who carries a sword, or a pirate who wears rather a lot of chiffon.” Delia assesses. 

“We’ll probably never know for sure.”

“One thing’s certain,” The brunette stands on her toes and gifts Patsy with a soft kiss, “You are the best Mum ever.”

The redhead can’t help but get completely lost in Delia then, pulling the smaller woman closer for more kisses.

Until they’re interrupted by May and Angela.

The girls giggle and make ridiculous gagging noises.

“Sorry you had to see that,” May deadpans to her friend, “My mums are _always_ snogging.” 

“It’s okay. My parents are like that too,” Angela rolls her eyes in solidarity.

“You’re not even teenagers yet,” Patsy replies dryly, “Bring the cheek down a level, if you please.” 

“Are you and Teddy staying for game night, Angela?” Delia asks. 

“We can’t,” The blonde girl answers with a bit of disappointment, “My parents want us to be home early. We have to be up first thing, to go visit Tim tomorrow.”

Anglea bellows for her little brother. 

And he appears with Lynn a few moments later. 

The Turner siblings convey their farewells to everyone, and they sign a ‘thank you’ to Lynn.

Evidently the younger girl has let them borrow her binoculars for their family holiday. 

Which is very generous. 

Lynn is terribly fond of those binoculars. 

They were a Christmas present from Delia, because the small girl loves rolling about the grounds up at the house in Scotland and spotting all the little creatures that venture through. 

Even in London, there are opportunities for bird watching in some parks. 

Patsy never noticed how much urban wildlife there was here. 

Having children is a madcap experience. 

If one keeps an open mind, they’ll teach you new things every day. 

“Settle a bet for us,” Delia asks the girls, after the Turners leave, “Is Mum a pirate or a princess?” 

“Or both,” Patsy suggests cheerfully. “A princess-pirate?” 

“She’s a princess obviously,” May laughs, “Girls can’t be pirates, only boys can.”

“Teddy was the pirate,” Lynn signs to add to her sister’s explanation.

“Who gave you the idea that only boys can do certain things?” Delia frowns. 

Because that’s definitely not something the Mount sisters have learned at home. 

May shrugs, “It’s just how things are.”

“No, it’s not.” Delia tells the girls very seriously, “You two can be _anything_ you want.” 

“Preferably not a pirate,” Patsy interjects lightheartedly, “Something with a bit less plundering and pillaging would be appreciated.”

“I want to be a painter! Or an actress!” Their ten-year-old announces with confidence. 

“I want to play outside with Garbo!” Lynn signs merrilly. 

_She’s five._

_She doesn’t need to have the specifics locked down yet._

“Maybe a veterinarian or a naturalist for you, Lovely.” Delia signs back thoughtfully and kisses the top of the younger girl’s head.

The brunette leaves them momentarily, to go upstairs and change out of her uniform.

While Patsy and the girls set up the parlor and rifle through a collection of board games.

Nonnatus is rather empty this evening. 

Often times the whole house participates in family game night. 

_But, just as well._

Patsy likes to have her wife and daughters all to herself every once in a while.

“So, what are we playing?” She asks, searching the parlor for her glasses. 

“Monopoly!” Lynn signs excitedly. 

“No way,” May signs back, “Not after what happened last time, you little tycoon.”

“Scrabble?” Patsy suggests.

“You can’t spell,” Lynn teases. "Mam says I can spell better, and I've only just learned."

“Good one,” May laughs at her sister’s humour.

The redhead pouts, “Dyslexia is a real thing, you know!” 

“Let’s just play cards, it’s simple.” Delia reappears and tries to settle things. 

“Goodness, Deels.” Patsy blushes. She looks around a bit distractedly, still trying to locate her glasses. “I rather think it’s inappropriate to discuss that in front of the children.” 

“I meant play _actual cards._ ”

The redhead pauses, “...Oh.”

“What else would playing cards mean?” Lynn signs innocently. 

“...You’ll find out when you’re older,” Patsy signs back awkwardly. 

May catches on, “Is it some kind of code for snogging?” 

“It’s something consenting adults are allowed to do and we’ll have a talk about it later. Right now we’re playing Cluedo,” Delia decides.

Everyone gathers on the floor, on cushions spread out around the board. 

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” Patsy gives up looking for them. 

“Is _that_ what you’ve been turning the whole house upside down for?” Delia laughs, “They’re on your head, My Love.”

“Again.” Lynn points out. 

And giggles with her sister about how daft their Mum is. 

When the redhead puts them on, Delia bites her lip and then impulsively leans in to give Patsy a quick kiss. 

“Er...Mum?” May interrupts them, “...Garbo’s eating your game piece.”

The redhead sighs wearily, a pries her little pawn from the dogs slobbery jaws. 

On Monday, everyone gets the letters. 

An identical envelope from the NHS, for each midwife in the house. 

One minute Patsy is having a laugh with Trixie - the next they’re being formally notified that all district midwifery practices will be shut down within the year.

_Any midwives wishing to continue their career will have to apply for a position in hospital._

_The number of hospital positions are limited._

_Not everyone will get assigned to the hospital of their choice._

It’s not as though they didn’t suspect this was coming. 

Women want hospital births now.

Midwives need to go where their patients want to be.

Patsy has had a lot of requests for strange locations over the years.

One woman wanted to give birth on the roof of her building.

Recently there was a hippie who was convinced she wanted to give birth in a park.

Hospitals, on the other hand, sound safe enough.

Patsy actually appreciates the rigid structure imposed in hospital.

There are plenty of things she misses about working at The London.

Becoming a district midwife was never her plan. 

It was more an act of desperation.

At the time, Delia had been seconded to the paediatrics ward for a few months.

And Patsy was left alone again in male surgery.

With the brunette there - it had become tolerable. 

Without her - Patsy was suddenly incapable of enduring it any longer.

A younger version of her would have just accepted her lot in life and muddled through.

But meeting Delia had made Patsy aware of just how happy she could be.

And if she could be happy in love.

Then she started to wonder if she could be happy at work too.

When Jenny Lee showed up, with her glowing tales of Nonnatun camaraderie and all female patient interactions - it seemed like a dream job.

Patsy applied to start studying for her midwifery exam the very next week.

She spoke to Delia about it first, to make sure the brunette wouldn’t feel too abandoned.

But the smaller woman was very encouraging.

“We’ll still make time to see each other,” She’d said, stroking Patsy’s then-blonde hair while they lay in bed at the old nurses’ home. “And if I can’t convince Matron to transfer me to paediatrics permanently, maybe I’ll join you at- what was the place called?”

Nonnatus House will be closing its doors for good, it seems.

The NHS won’t be funding the nuns’ participation in community health initiatives any further. 

Which means Sister Julienne and her order can’t afford to stay here. 

They will await directions from the Mother House, and simply be called to serve elsewhere. 

Conversation at the table is rather subdued during supper. 

They all know what will happen. 

Everyone will scatter to the winds once they leave Nonnatus. 

The friendships - the _family_ \- they’ve built here, that will start to fade away once they have new schedules to keep them busy. 

Delia has been very quiet about the whole situation.

“Are you alright?” The brunette asks, as she and Patsy climb into bed that evening.

“I’ll miss this house,” The redhead admits, “But, as long as I have you and the girls, I’ll always be alright.”

She offers a genuine smile and gives Delia’s hand a little squeeze, appreciative of the concern.

The smaller woman smiles back tightly in response, it seems a bit forced.

_Probably dreading all the business of moving house._

She was never as fond of organising and compartmentalising things into neat little boxes as Patsy.

The brunette turns off their bedside lamp and settles against Patsy’s side.

They lay in silence for a while.

And then it suddenly occurs to the redhead that maybe _Delia_ isn’t alright with everything that’s happening.

“Darling, have you filled out your reassignment application? I think we should submit them at the same time, I have a feeling that would give us a better chance of getting placed in the same hospital.”

“I don’t know,” The smaller woman sighs, “It feels selfish to apply for one of the hospital posts. We don’t need the money. Our friends actually rely on their salaries. Phyllis is trying to save for retirement. Val and Lucille are talking to Mother Mildred about adopting. They need those jobs more than we do.”

“Well, what about applying for obstetrics nurse positions instead? That was always your original dream anyway.”

“Not always.” The brunette laughs, “I wanted to be a doctor before that. Until my Mam told me girls couldn’t be doctors.”

Patsy frowns, “Girls can be doctors.”

“Well, yes, nowadays. Things are changing. Back when we were young, I had enough trouble getting my parents to let me go to nurses’ training.”

“Do it now then.”

“What?”

“Go to university. Be a doctor.”

“That was a silly fantasy from when I was a girl. I can’t be spending years and years studying, not at my age.”

“If it’s something you want, you know I’ll support you.” 

“It’s not the right time, Pats.”

“Why?”

“Lynn just started school. May is ten _going on forty-five._ She’ll be a teenager in the blink of an eye. I need to be focused on them.”

“The girls will be fine. Think of how inspiring it will be for them to see you do this.”

“We’re midwives. All our friends are midwives. There’s a war going on between us and doctors right now, they’ve been trying to steal our patients for ages. And we look down on doctors, we complain about how out of touch they are all the time. What would everyone think if I suddenly switched sides?”

“We look down on doctors because most of them are men, and we think obstetrics and gynecology should be left to women. Nobody would lump you in with male doctors. We’d all be proud of you for pioneering the way forward in women’s health.”

“Just leave it, please. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Why are you so reluctant to pursue this? In all the time I’ve known you - you’ve always gone after what you wanted, without hesitation. You never cared about what anyone else thought.” 

Silence.

Patsy prepares to drop the conversation.

She doesn’t want to turn it into an argument.

And then the brunette speaks quietly-

“-Do you remember that lecture, by the Austrian physicist?”

“The lecture you _made_ me sit through back when we first began courting?” Patsy grins at the memory of how in love she was, even at that early stage, “The chap was a real nutter, as I recall. ”

“I know you thought so. But I went back and bought his book because I found the theory really interesting - that there might be infinite other universes, in which every possible permutation of reality exists. When I’ve made an important decision, I often think to myself...‘somewhere, in another universe, there’s probably a doppelganger of me that made the wrong choice’.”

“Goodness, the way your mind works is magnificent, Darling!” The redhead is pleasantly astonished, “I could never think that deeply about things.”

“I don’t regret anything I’ve done in my life. Even not asking my parents about university. Because choosing nurses’ training led me to you. And choosing you led me to Nonnatus. And choosing Nonnatus lead me to our daughters. I love all of you, I love my life now.”

And Patsy takes a second to consider all of the perfectly orchestrated choices that Delia has needed to make for both of them over the years, to have brought them to this very moment. 

“What’s stopping you from taking this second chance, to choose university?” The redhead questions.

“I’m not sure it’s the right choice...studying to be a doctor- it’s a lot. I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Deels,” Patsy laughs incredulously, “You can do _anything._ ”

She pulls the smaller woman close and peppers her face with kisses. 

After that bit of affectionate bolstering, Delia utters some _tentatively_ hopeful words about _possibly_ applying to universities. 

And Patsy kisses the brunette some more.

They stay up half the night, cuddling and whispering about new lofty plans.

In the same way they did back when they were just silly kids falling in love, and dreaming about running away together. 

At breakfast, Sister Julienne smiles brightly when she takes her place at the head of the table.

“I have some news regarding the future of Nonnatus House.”

“What’s going to happen?” Sister Frances asks keenly.

“Mother Mildred informs me that a benefactor has offered to pay for all of our expenses, so that our order can continue to serve this community. And our secular nurses are also welcome to continue living here.”

“That’s fabulous news!” Trixie raves, “Who is this guardian angel of ours?”

“I can’t say, they wished to remain unnamed.” Sister Julienne responds simply. 

The older woman’s eyes twinkle when she glances at Patsy, while the rest of the table is celebrating. 

The redhead looks down at her plate humbly.

After everything these women have done for her, helping them keep their home was the least Patsy could do.

So, everyone is staying put. 

Well...not everyone. 

Delia applied to Edinburgh University.

The obstetrics focus there really excited her.

It will be like an extended family holiday.

The girls always have a fantastic time up in Scotland. 

They seem happy about the temporary change of venue.

And Patsy does better in a colder climate anyway, the further north she is - the safer, really, with her skin tone. 

She’s come to appreciate Edinburgh more.

Now that she has a guide to all the best bits, within the pages of her Mother’s diary.

Calton Hill where one can see ‘the most beautiful sunrise in the world’ was mentioned often. 

Patsy has since taken Delia and the girls there many times, for breakfast picnics and silly games. 

On one occasion, the redhead visited by herself.

Eyes towards the rising sun.

Towards the east.

Towards the past. 

For a long time, it had felt like there was a rift in the universe, something so traumatic and painful it could never be healed. 

Patsy had tried. 

Being a nurse was her way of making up for everything she couldn’t heal in herself, in her parents, in her sister.

As a lonely little girl, Patsy often cried herself to sleep at boarding school - wishing, _aching_ for a big and warm and nurturing family to go home to.

So, she provides one for her own daughters now. 

With a unique and personal understanding of just how vital that is, for children who haven’t had the easiest start in life. 

And, on good days, that rift in the universe feels like it’s finally being stitched up. 

Today, Trixie is a mess of tears. 

She tries to hug Delia and Patsy and Lynn and May all at once, and won’t let any of them go until they _promise_ they’ll all still be friends despite the long distance. 

“Let me just remind you two, who your favourite godmother is,” The blonde speaks and signs to the girls. “I want weekly letters, at least.”

Phyllis clears her throat and gives Trixie a pointed look - evidently there’s some disagreement between them about who exactly is the favourite godmother. 

“We’re not going to Mars,” Patsy laughs at her old roommate’s histrionics, “We’ll be back in a few months for Christmas.”

“You’ll see us and the girls all the time,” Delia assures.

She moves to give Lucille and Valerie each a hug. 

Patsy holds out a respectful hand for Nurse Crane to shake. 

But Phyllis just scoffs and pulls the redhead in for a hug - “Look after yourself, and all your girls.” 

When it’s finally time to leave, Patsy folds up Lynn’s wheelchair and places it in the boot of the car, then checks the ties holding the family's luggage on top.

Delia rolls the passenger window down and gives the redhead a few instructions. 

“I’ve got it all secure,” Patsy waves her off.

“That’s what you said when we went to visit my parents last year. Just before my suitcase fell into a ravine.” 

“There was a preternaturally strong gust of wind that day! I can’t be held responsible for the weather, Darling.” 

“You lost me my favourite lilac blouse,” The brunette grumbles, “There’s probably a fashionable badger somewhere near Swansea, walking about in french silk from Bond-bloody-Street.”

Patsy laughs at the imagery.

She leans down and pokes her head in the window and presses a cheeky kiss to the smaller woman’s lips.

“I love you,” The redhead whispers with a silly lopsided smile.

Delia grins and pulls Patsy in for a second kiss. 

“Get in the car, you fool,” The brunette mutters fondly.

The girls giggle at them from the back seat.

Garbo is back there as well.

The dog has his head out a window, tongue lolling happily as if he can already feel the breeze on his face.

He gives the sleeve of Patsy’s shirt a familiar teasing little nibble as she opens the driver’s side door.

She turns, to look back at the house for just a moment. 

The place where she married the love of her life.

The place where she held both of their children for the first time. 

The place where, in many ways, she found the first proper home she ever had.

It’s hard to say goodbye.

But, if this house has taught her anything - it’s that life has a way of taking you to precisely the right places, at precisely the right times. 

This isn’t the end of anything. 

It’s just another sort of beginning.

And Nonnatus will always be here, when they’re ready to come home again.


End file.
